


Do Wrong Right

by Yeah_JSmith



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Benevolent Speciesism, Bigotry & Prejudice, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Light on the Romance, My Metaphors Are the Opposite of Subtle, Optimist Judy Hopps, Original Justice System, Original Mystery, Revisionist History, Slick Nick Wilde, Slightly Different Roles, Some Fluff, They're Unsubtle, Worldbuilding, overcoming the odds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2019-10-03 19:55:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 109,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17290382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeah_JSmith/pseuds/Yeah_JSmith
Summary: Twenty years after bunnies officially gained mammal status, Mayor Lionheart is assassinated, and Provisional Detective Judy Hopps is left without a sponsor. Desperate to close a missing mammals case before District Chief Bogo deems her unfit for service, she turns to the last mammal on Earth she should trust: Nick Wilde, professional scam artist....Heprobablywon't eat her.Title Inspiration





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy Hopps, the first bunny detective, makes a couple of desperate deals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't do "dark for the sake of darkness," but I do understand that this might not be well-received for a variety of reasons, so I want to put this out there: read the tags and the summary before you begin this story. Anything else I say is going to be a big ol' spoiler, but trust me, this isn't just a case-story. It's also not something I'm going to apologize for.
> 
> To be clear, this is not a "(predators/prey) are in charge" AU. The world is the same, except for two major changes: first, Night Howlers don't exist. Second, I've taken my "ancient bunny history" headcanon and screwed with the timeline. If you do end up liking this, please don't expect frequent updates; I'm focusing on finishing my lawyers AU, but I just wanted to post this first chapter.
> 
> (Title yoinked from a The Devil Makes Three song.)

District Chief Bogo was large and imposing even when wearing his half-glasses. He was wearing them now, though whether it was to ridicule her height or because he genuinely couldn’t see her was anyone’s guess. The one available chair, aside from his, was the Trunkaby-sized chair instead of the Wolfard-sized one, and she was sure that was no oversight. She felt like a child, but he had been very clear when he’d told her to take a seat.

He’d hated her since she arrived, she knew. He hated her because she was small and because the politics of the MII were outside his purview, and Mayor Lionheart had insisted not-so-gently that if the first bunny detective were prevented from doing her job, there would be consequences. And,  _ maybe,  _ he hated her because she was a bunny. She hoped not; surely an appointed official would be above the kind of institutionalized speciesism that stalled full integration for a full 40 years after the reclassification movement had first gained attention and support in the 1940’s. But after three years working under him, Judy had her reluctant doubts.

“Hopps,” he said sternly, and she straightened. 

“Yes, Chief?”

“I’ve been chewing on a problem.” He looked at her through the lenses of his glasses and she tried not to feel like he was looking down his nose at her. “Can you guess what it might be?”

“The missing mammals cases?”

“Indirectly,” he agreed, sitting back in his chair. She had to strain to see him like that. “The problem I’m trying to solve is you. In the three years you’ve been here, how many cases have you closed?”

“Eleven, Sir,” she replied, as quick as ever. She wasn’t sure how that stood up to the caseload of the larger detectives, but she was pretty proud of it, especially since she’d been pushing uphill the whole time. She didn’t officially have a partner, and she’d spent an entire  _ year  _ doing Active Administration — working with data, confirming permits, writing traffic tickets at speed traps, the sort of nonsense that  _ should  _ have been assigned to the enforcement department,  _ not  _ to a trained detective — so technically she had closed eleven cases in two years, mostly on her own, one of which involved a  _ crime boss. _

“That’s a lot of cases,” he mused. She began to smile, feeling hope rise in her chest. Maybe  _ today  _ was the day she’d finally get taken off provisional status and officially become a Zootopian! “You’ve been a thorn in my side from the beginning. Our  _ esteemed  _ Mayor was aggressive in his...negotiations. You are the face of the Mammal Inclusion Initiative. You’re an inspiration to bunnies everywhere.”

“Thank you, Chief-”

“Shut it, Hopps.” Her smile fell as he continued, “The MII was not intended for you. It was intended to open doors for the  _ citizens _ of Zootopia who have historically been marginalized. Leodore was running on a progressivist platform, and he chose you to represent his little experiment because of  _ what  _ you are, not  _ who  _ you are. And now that he’s dead, I’m in a bind. How did you close eleven cases without a partner?”

“I have outside resources,” she answered, refusing to show how much his words hurt. 

“Yes, I imagine the Largo family  _ is  _ a good outside resource, so long as you continue to be of value to them.”

If her foot were on the floor, it would have been tapping. Her nose was certainly wiggling. The  _ only  _ time she’d ever used Mr. Big’s resources was when Little Judy had been stolen for ransom, and that was when she and Rivers had accidentally broken up a budding crime ring. Most of her outside resources were regular mammals — sometimes sketchy (but observant) ones like Duke Weaselton, who was careful to never admit that he was a bootlegger and petty thief; sometimes more upright citizens like Emilia Birch, who ran a BDSM-focused sex work agency. “Sir, I saved Francesca Largo from being crushed to death by a business sign before I knew who she was. Paul Largo is grateful to me, Fru-Fru is registered as a CI, and Commissioner Spottson has  _ requested  _ that I keep their acquaintance for the purpose of-”

“A peaceful city, yes, I heard the speech. You’re missing the point. You are taking up space that could be occupied by a qualified detective. You are leeching funding from this department for your size-specific gear. And up until now, I have been able to do  _ nothing,  _ because Leodore insisted I keep you on. Now, he’s no longer here to smear his politics all over my precinct.”

Judy’s stomach sank as she realized the truth. Mayor Lionheart had only been shot three months prior, and they still only knew that some traditionalist wingnut had been leaving him threatening messages for a month before his assassination. He was barely in the grave, and already the Chief wanted to help undo the progress the Mayor had made, starting with the detective he’d never wanted in his precinct in the first place. “So you’re just going to fire me?”

“That is precisely the problem,” Bogo said flatly. “I  _ can’t  _ fire you. Despite my efforts to keep you out of public view, the fact that you’re a  _ provisional  _ detective with an impressive case count has made small mammals begin to trust the ZPD again — even small predators. At this point, firing you would have serious backlash, and we can’t afford that, especially with all of these mammals going missing. We need all the tips we can get.”

“You want...what, exactly? To keep using me as your token bunny?”

“I  _ want  _ you to resign.”

Her mouth fell open. She had known he didn’t like her, but she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Sir, I have closed _eleven cases._ I graduated top of my class, and I haven’t given you any reason to think it wasn’t deserved. I’m not going to resign just because you think I’m too small to do this job!”

Belatedly, she realized that her accent was creeping into her words. Lapine, her first language, made use of the dental fricative, rhotic  _ r, _ and gliding vowels that had helped make speciesist caricatures like Bugs Bunny and (to a greater extent, but less maliciously) Roger Rabbit so memorable. She was usually careful to use the neutral accent that most Zootopians used, but sometimes, when she couldn’t keep a lid on her emotions…

“You know you don’t belong here, Hopps,” he said gently, no longer frowning but instead looking at her with pity, and Judy got the impression that he thought he was being  _ kind.  _ It made her sick. “It’s not just your size. It’s dangerous for you to interact with the public from a position of authority. There are a lot of predators out there still angry that you’re not a food source.”

“It’s illegal to eat a bunny, Sir.”

“It’s illegal to break into someone’s home and steal their things, too. That doesn’t stop mammals.”

“Yes, they’re both criminal acts, so why is this different?”

He sighed. “Rabbits eat hay, don’t you? You can survive off other foods, even bugs if you have to, but hay is the easiest way to get the nutrients you need.”

“Yes,” she answered hesitantly, thrown by the change of subject.

“Then imagine, if you will, a law that says no one is allowed to eat hay. It isn’t outlawed; you’re just not allowed to eat it. And hay, suddenly, becomes a fashion statement: wealthy families grow it in their yards, it’s even made into clothing and worn by celebrities. It’s being paraded in front of you, but you can’t have any of it. Wouldn’t your natural response be to eat it in secret? To steal it? Perhaps even take it right in front of everyone, if you got hungry enough?”

“No,” she said firmly, “and it’s not the same.”

“It  _ is  _ the same. Your kind has been kept away from the rest of society for your own protection, not because of the progressivist fantasy of bunny speciesism. Predators can’t help their instincts any more than you can help yours. The last thing we need is some fox snapping and going savage on a detective. You’re a hazard to public relations and this job is a hazard to your safety. Your sponsor didn’t see that, and he fed you dangerous half-truths to help his own image. You  _ need  _ to resign, for the collective good.”

“Excuse me for disagreeing, but the  _ collective  _ is best served by having a reminder that bunnies are not objects. We are mammals. We always were, but equal protection is written into federal law now, and it has been for two decades. If you have a specific complaint about my performance, Chief,” she said, containing all of her negativity and pushing it aside. She had been warned about this by Assistant Mayor Bellwether: bigotry wasn’t going to go away just because she had proved herself. “Then please tell me.”

“You know I don’t. Your performance isn’t the issue. Your presence is.”

“I’m not giving in.”

“Then you give me no choice,” Bogo said with a grimace. “You have been on provisional status for far too long, so I’m assigning you a final test. Your next case is another missing mammal, Katrina Castleberry. You have one month to close this case. Should you fail, I will declare you unfit for service, and without a sponsor, you’ll lose your work citizenship. On the other hoof...if you resign now,  _ I  _ will sponsor you until you can find more suitable employment.”

“I’ll do it,” she said after a moment of hesitation. She wasn’t just risking her career; she was risking her lodging, her papers, everything she had worked for. What use was a criminal justice degree if she was stuck in Baniburrah (or as it was known to outsiders, Bunnyburrow)? It took  _ years  _ to qualify for work citizenship; would she be able to find another sponsor before her six-month grace period was up, even assuming there was another option in her field? But she couldn’t back down. It was about integrity. Bravery. The oath she had taken at graduation from the Detective Program at the Zootopia Police Academy. How could she claim to serve and protect if she was more concerned with herself than the safety of a missing ocelot? 

“See Clawhauser for the case file. Dismissed,” Bogo snapped. 

This was not going to be easy, but she would not fail. She didn’t have the luxury, and neither did Castleberry.

* * *

Judy was still steaming about the almost completely empty case file several hours later, but if nothing else, her upbringing had taught her to make do with what she had. At one point, her parents would have been mortified to know that their insistence that she settle for less had actually made her  _ better  _ at her job, but after three years, nobody was mad at each other anymore. 

She still wasn’t going to tell them that her best chance was a fox, though.

Although it was not in Judy’s nature to be cynical — she couldn’t have gotten where she was if she hadn’t reached for the sky — she still had to give herself an internal pep talk before she approached the two foxes. Today, the smaller one, Finnick Furson, was wearing an elephant onesie and being pushed around in a stroller, but her target, Nicholas “I Know Everyone” Wilde, was wearing his usual getup, a Tommy Bapawma shirt (this time in pale green) and tan slacks with a slant-stripe tie. She wasn’t afraid of Furson, because he was small, but Wilde…

_ It’s illegal,  _ she told herself firmly, because it was true. As she had reminded Chief Bogo, eating a bunny was a crime. If Mayor Lionheart’s legislation had gone through before his assassination, it would have been considered a hate crime by now. No matter what his ancestors or even his parents might have done to her, it was a different time. She wasn’t afraid of some fox, even if he  _ was  _ a mean one who seemed to have no ambitions other than running small-time cons and being speciesist to bunnies who’d really just wanted to make sure his permits were up to date that one time.

In the three years since she had been granted work citizenship, he’d never physically done anything to her, even before she was moved from Active Admin to the position she’d been hired to take. He’d been a real jerk, but he’d never even bared his teeth. It was fine, right? Redteeth barely even existed anymore now that killing bunnies carried the same punishment as murdering any other mammal. It was fine.

It was  _ fine. _

She drew her shoulders back, straightened her spine, and walked directly in front of the stroller. Wilde stopped pushing, so she guessed that was a point in his favor; other mammals, predators especially, would have just keep going, hoping to make her dive out of the way, or maybe just not caring that she was there. Her confidence rose. “Nicholas Wilde?”

“Eh, what’s up, Doc,” Wilde said in that smarmy tone of voice she hated. Furson, not bothering to pretend to be asleep, rolled his eyes, and Judy tried not to be hurt at the unsubtle jab. Or maybe it wasn’t even a jab; after all, there weren’t many bunnies in Zootopia. If those speciesist cartoons were the only exposure he’d had, then maybe he really thought it was a bunny thing. Maybe he was changing his ways and trying to be polite! Yeah, he was too young to know why those cartoons were made 70 years prior. They’d been on the periphery of each other’s worlds for long enough that in another situation, they might even be friends.

She smiled at him, glad that he was trying, at least, even if his attempt was based on blatant anti-reclassification propaganda. Careful to enunciate every word like a Zootopian instead of falling back into the telling accent of her first language, she said, “I’m looking into the case of a missing ocelot, Katrina Castleberry, and the evidence leads me to believe that you’re the last mammal who saw her.”

“And what,” he asked, leaning forward to rest his elbow on the arm of the stroller and his cheek on his palm, “makes you think that?”

She held up a photo of Kat Castleberry sucking on one of his signature treats. “Do you know this ocelot?”

“I know everybody,” he replied, looking at her as though she were stupid. Oh,  _ this  _ again. Apparently, he wasn’t turning over a new leaf after all.

She put on a bright grin even though everything about him annoyed her. “This was taken the day she disappeared. That’s one of your Pawpsicles, isn’t it?”

That was his daily hustle: getting one single elephant-sized ice cream stick, melting it down, re-selling it under his own brand, and recycling the sticks for cash. It was technically legal, though it was a cheap trick that allowed him to take advantage of small mammals  _ and  _ the elephant who owned the ice cream parlor (though deep down, she couldn’t bring herself to feel sorry for the bigoted fellow). Three years ago, she had been furious that someone in his position would choose to live his life that way, but now that she’d been in Zootopia for so long, she understood that foxes weren’t exactly the privileged swells that Marian Grey had considered herself (and her son, Gideon) to be. Foxes as a species had apparently never been trusted by most mammals, depicted as tricksters and thieves throughout history. The mange crisis in the 70’s and 80’s had killed a lot of them, and since it was largely blamed on migrant foxes, their public image was destroyed even further.

Sure, she was still annoyed that he’d ever thought it was okay to call her cute and make fun of her ancestry and make hurtful comments about her species and talk down to her like a child, but she did understand why he had decided legitimate jobs weren’t worth the effort. 

(This was progress, right?)

Wilde fluttered his eyelashes at her. “It might be. What’s it worth to you, darlin?”

“A missing girl’s life, for one,” she answered patiently, although she didn’t feel patient. She wanted to smack his smarmy face. It was so easy to forget he was a fox when he acted like a jerk. “Your pride, for another. You’re always saying that you know everybody. I’m starting to think it’s just a big lie, but here’s your chance to prove it.”

“Yeah, no, I don’t make a habit of stroking my own ego,” he lied. She knew it was a lie, because he was  _ constantly  _ acting superior, calling her names, bragging about knowing everybody…

Oh well. She still had her trump card to play, as much as she didn’t want to stoop to these levels. “Then I have no choice but to make an arrest.”

“For what?” He grinned at her, showing all of his teeth. She tried not to shudder at the image, and was pleased by her success. “Do you really think the toy store will believe  _ I’m  _ the one who stole you out of your box?”

“You’re a real riot. Note my complete shock that you’re single,” she snipped, “but no. Nicholas Wilde, you are under arrest for practicing law without a license, identity theft, and suspected felony tax evasion.”

His eyes bugged out and his ears went back against his head as she locked the front wheel of his stroller with a wheel boot made for small cars. She had checked it out from Parking Enforcement in anticipation of this moment, although she’d hoped he would play nicely. He leaned over the bonnet to look at the wheel, and then looked back up at her, the perfect picture of offense. “You just booted my stroller. Do you have any idea how  _ expensive  _ this was?”

“Wow, you’re really making strides,” she commented, lifting her eyebrow. “It was just one month ago that you told me to hop along home to my sixteen litters, and now you’re acknowledging I can’t possibly know how much your stroller cost. I’m going to tell you how this will play out. You’re going to put your arms behind your back while I cuff you, and I’m going to take you down to the station. They might charge you. They might not. I have enough evidence to get you booked and held pending either way.”

(That was a lie; her evidence was circumstantial at best, and enforcement was thankfully not her job. But Wilde didn’t need to know that.)

“That is  _ not  _ happening,” he told her flatly, making no move to bolt.

“You know you can’t run from me.” She frowned at him. “I am faster than you, and I’m trained to take down mammals three times your size. You know this. You’ve seen me in action. I don’t want to chase you, Wilde. And I know you don’t want to have to deal with the permanent hit to your reputation if I  _ do  _ arrest you. So I’ll make you a deal: if you give me the information I need on Kat Castleberry, her associates, and what you know about where she went after she bought your Pawpsicle, I’ll  _ forget  _ what I know about you.”

“How can I know you’ll follow through on your end of the deal,” he asked warily, eyes narrow and lips pursed.

“Easy. I, unlike you, gave an oath. Not keeping my word serves no one. Turning you in, should you decide not to be a contributing citizen, protects anyone you’ve already conned,  _ David Furris.  _ Or should I call you Oliver Evergreen? Maybe-”

“Yeah, fine, all right,” he snapped. “I know her. I’ll give you the info you need, just get that thing off my stroller.”

“Oh, if you’d like to remove the boot, you’ll need to check in with Parking Enforcement and have them remove it,” she told him sweetly. “For a vehicle this size, the fine’s only 40 bucks. Lucky you.”

Furson, surprising her — and, apparently, Wilde, as well — burst out laughing and hopped up, the hood of his onesie flopping back against his shoulders. Through guffaws, he told Wilde, “Looks like your luck just ran out, Kit. But don’t worry; I’ll only tell everyone you know that you got outsmarted by a bunny.”

Wilde’s growl sent a shiver down her spine, but she didn’t allow it to show on her face or in her movement. He wasn’t dangerous. He  _ wasn’t.  _ Chief Bogo was wrong; she wasn’t in danger of being eaten. Nobody just  _ went savage.  _

...Almost nobody, anyway. Judy pushed aside the hazy half-memory of Rose’s half-eaten body and smiled. It had been seventeen years since then, and this was the  _ city. _ Things were different in the city where anyone could be anything. “Follow me, Wilde. We’ll talk over coffee.”

“You’re buying,” he grumbled, but he did follow her, so she considered it a win.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some worldbuilding here, mostly historical/social but also a bit linguistic. Obviously I take Lapine as a whole from Richard Adams, but I’ve put my own flair in. For example, I’ve added two letters (the yj-sound as you’ll hear in the word pollo if your new mama is Puerto Rican, written as Ÿ (a symbol they basically just chose at random when they had to make a written version of their language) in Lapine and written as J in Animalia Commons; also the letter ï, which is also a symbol they chose at random, and is a gliding “ea” as in “idea”) to account for Judy’s name and a few other concepts that honestly I have no idea if they'll be included. Also, pronunciation is somewhat different; as indicated last chapter, the language leaves Judy's people pronouncing A.C. with dental fricatives, rhotic R’s, and gliding vowels, though all of this tends to be regional (Arcadian bunnies, for example, will have an A.C. accent that is more Cork than anything, which would make Ruth Wilde feel right at home and sound bizarre to most other bunnies). In 200 years, the Bunnyburrow accent will sound vaguely Southern (per canon), as it's soaked in other languages and softened by time. Judy, who perfected A.C. listening to Zootopian radio stations, sounds like she did in canon when speaking it. Mostly, I’m not going to spend too much time on the linguistics side of things.

Katrina Castleberry, 34 years old, journalist. Last seen eating a Pawpsicle made by Nick Wilde; last known project, something to do with unethical employment practices. Her boss had given her plenty of freedom after her fifth investigative piece, so even he didn’t know all the facts about her research, but Judy was on her way to interview Tess Harfang, a private investigator who had worked closely with Kat in the past.

So far, Wilde’s information was solid. Kat didn’t have family — like most of the other missing mammals in a long string of them — and her job occasionally made her schedule unpredictable, but Wilde had known a lot about her, including her social habits (she went to Espress Yourself every Thursday for open mic but otherwise kept to herself), her stress habits (she smoked Lucky Strikes, but only occasionally), and her favorite perfume (something rose-scented that  _ wasn’t  _ Calvin Klaww). Judy would have found that infinitely creepy, had he not casually described twelve other mammals the same way. 

Was it a fox thing, or had he picked it up on the streets? Either would make sense. She knew he didn’t have an address, which either meant he was homeless or squatting somewhere, and according to stories foxes had always paid attention to detail, but he wasn’t important. Kat was important, and so was Tess. 

The office was a fourth-floor suite in a mid-sized office building located in Savanna Central — prime real estate, especially for a business that was used by many industries. The weather outside was warm and sunny and generally matched Judy’s mood: she was on the right track, she could feel it. The best part of a case was, of course, getting justice for wronged parties, but the outset of one, gathering information, getting ready to track down the wrongdoers, was a kind of high-energy thrill that Judy tried to downplay in her own mind. A bunny enjoying the  _ thrill of the hunt  _ wasn’t exactly a great picture, especially when that bunny was also a detective. Beat cops were known for their zeal, which wasn’t a good thing; it was important for detectives to have more decorum, lest the departments become conflated. Beat cops were a holdover from a time when the police was basically a local militia, power-hungry and highly motivated to enforce State-sanctioned discrimination instead of actually investigating or rehabilitating, and  _ no  _ detective wanted to be associated with that kind of organized crime-type behavior.

Judy already got a hard time from other bunnies for joining an institution that, just half a century ago, would have come after her for daring to leave the farm without pet ownership papers; she didn’t need to give anyone more ammunition to call her a species traitor. Still, knowing that what she did next could help save someone from a more terrible fate  _ always  _ made the bad parts of the job bearable. Missing mammals wasn’t zoicide, like she’d originally aimed for, but she still got to help make the world a better place. What could be better than that?

Judy chose to take the stairs rather than the elevator. She needed another few moments to walk out her nerves. Tess was a coyote, and Judy had never met one before; coyotes had been the first mammals to ally with bunnies, even before it had become fashionable to be interested in species equality, and she didn’t want to embarrass herself by acting like a teen at a Gazelle concert. Tess hadn’t even been born at that time. It was possible she didn’t agree with her grandparents’ choices to fight for unleashing. It was even possible that her grandparents hadn’t been among the coyotes who had supported the cause. Rivers often said that Judy needed to stop assuming the best of everyone, and in a case where  _ everyone  _ was necessarily a suspect until she could narrow it down, that was true. Even if Judy didn’t like it.

The door to her left opened and she stopped in the corner to let whoever it was pass, whether they were going up or down. To her consternation, it wasn’t a stranger; it was Nick Wilde, because of course it was. Clad in yet another Tommy Bapawma shirt, this one an eye-watering electric blue, with a red tie that looked like it belonged on an off-brand cartoon character — Judy decided this must be a uniform of sorts — he looked out of place in such a fancy building.

“You have to help me. That beat cop Porcino has it out for me,” he said quickly, instead of doing the civilized thing and greeting her. Not that she had expected much from a con artist. Walking alongside her up the stairs, he added, “He insists I’m up to something. No proof at all, he just wants to get me for foxing in public. C’mon, Detective Carrots, show a little heart. Bunnies have them, it’s scientifically proven.”

_ Don’t engage,  _ she told herself. He was just trying to rile her up. He probably had no idea how that kind of thing sounded, especially since he was being harassed — and that, at least, she could believe. As it had been since the inception of police departments, the beat was full of bigots who  _ thought  _ they had more power than they actually had. Like the rest of her fellow detectives, she couldn’t wait until they finally fazed out the enforcement division of the ZPD, or at least did a big purge and made Internal Affairs an external outfit that held cops to the highest standards possible.

“You could always just... _ fox... _ in private for a couple of days,” she suggested, somewhat amused that he would use his species as a verb. She didn’t  _ bunny  _ anywhere, she just happened to  _ be  _ a bunny. Although...if he’d meant that Porcino had it out for him  _ because  _ of his species, she wouldn’t be surprised, so maybe that was what he’d meant. That made her response a little mean, she realized, but Wilde had been mean enough over the years that maybe he needed a little dose of his own medicine. It had worked well enough three days prior. To soften the blow, she added, “Wait for him to find a different fixation and  _ then  _ go back to scamming innocent rodents. Why would you come to me, anyway?”

“My partner up and vanished after you threatened to arrest me. You owe me,” he said, gesturing at her with his sharp claws, which she valiantly ignored.

“I don’t owe you anything, Wilde,” she retorted. She stopped short and turned, trying to shake him or at least annoy him into leaving. “You were on borrowed time anyway — time I  _ gave  _ you, by the way, so,  _ you’re welcome.” _

He stepped in front of her with an angry scowl. She stopped and allowed her foot to tap as he told her, “You owe me your badge, Stufty. This was  _ my  _ lead.  _ I  _ got you here.”

“Only because you didn’t want to get arrested,” she ground out. She didn’t have the patience to play civil with him any longer. “Listen, I know it’s hard to understand that you are not the center of the universe, but I don’t have  _ time  _ for this. I have exactly 27 days to find Kat Castleberry, so  _ please,  _ go play with your little banker friends and leave me to my work.”

He snorted and moved to body-check her when she tried to step around him. “Someone must  _ really  _ hate that ocelot. If they wanted her found, they’d have sent a real detective, instead of just some dumb bunny in a costume.”

The fight went out of her. She couldn’t even stop her ears from drooping, her most obvious tell. Wilde was right: the Chief would have to be sure that this was an impossible case, or else he wouldn’t have pinned Judy’s career on it. Judy was going to solve this case, but if Bogo was so secure in his bigotry, then...was Kat Castleberry just an acceptable loss to him? She was a mammal! She was missing and she needed help! Well. If Wilde wanted to make a nuisance of himself…

Her ears went back up and her lips lifted up into a smile she hoped made him feel as slimy as his often made her feel. “Of course, I can offer you a little protection; you are  _ welcome  _ to tag along, if you can continue to be useful.”

Wilde drew back a little. His expression dropped, too. “Can't you just talk to him? You cops are all bros, right?”

“Porcino is not my  _ bro,”  _ she replied, unable to hide her amusement. “Not only are enforcement and investigation generally at odds with one another, but he's a brute, and you ought to hear the things he says about bunnies.” 

He liked to mention the time his grandmother had smuggled rabbit stew into his hospital room as a child any time Judy was within hearing range. She doubted he'd ever  _ actually  _ eaten rabbit, because he only said it tasted like chicken; he didn't mention the somewhat tougher, gamey texture or the more full-bodied flavor compared to chicken, but the fact that she knew from cookbooks what her own species tasted like made her uncomfortable, so she had never called him on it. They were supposed to be beyond such things as a society, right? If she played into it, wouldn’t she just make things worse?

“He calls you cute, doesn't he,” Wilde said smugly. 

“More or less,” she said with a nod. Like heck she'd give Wilde that kind of ammunition; he had already proven himself to be one of  _ those  _ mammals. No need to make it worse for herself. “Nothing I haven't heard before, although  _ he  _ considers himself a comic genius. In any case, no, I can't put in a good word for you, but you can  _ earn  _ a good word with  _ my  _ department if you decide to put yourself to good use.”

“Just like a cop, to put her own case above the safety of a citizen,” he said dramatically. Or, she thought it was drama. Who knew, with Wilde? He wasn’t exactly an open book. If she had to pick a word to describe him, it would probably be “troll.” 

(And she made a mental note, for the third time, to look up how to pronounce that, because apparently it didn’t have a short  _ o  _ sound; why would Animalia Commons, the most widely-spoken language in the world, make any sense?)

“Wilde, this case is  _ about  _ the safety of a citizen, and your situation is self-inflicted. Or, mostly, anyway. I’m sure Porcino has it out for you. He’s a jerk. But you can either take the protection I’ve offered you, or make your own way. I don’t have time for your theatrics,” she reaffirmed, and stepped around him quickly enough that he couldn’t get in her way again. Pretty soon, she was going to stop being polite and letting other mammals get away with walking into her space,  _ honestly,  _ it was like they still saw her as an object.

“Fine, fine, I  _ guess  _ I’ll grace you with my keen intellect and devastating good looks,” Wilde sighed,  _ as though he were doing her a favor,  _ and she felt her eye twitch in time with her nose. How could one mammal be this self-involved? She had half a mind to make him get down on his knees and beg! 

...But that wouldn’t be professional, so she carried on, head held high. As a parting shot, before they left the stairwell, she snipped, “Pull yourself together, Slick Nick. You’re slipping. I’m embarrassed  _ for  _ you.”

“You’d slip too, if you were cut to the bone by a cute little bunny rabbit. It’s my own blood I’m slipping on, Detective Carrots,” he retorted, and she tried not to smile. Of course he would have to wrap his praise in insults, he was incapable of relating on a level deeper than sarcastic antagonism. Even his own partner had bailed on him at the first opportunity, and he had the gall to try to guilt-trip her about it.

That was something she could focus on. Instead of the  _ what-if  _ of his teeth and claws, she could focus on the  _ why-though  _ of his irritating egocentrism.

“It’s likely that Tess Harfang has some information about my case,” she told him sternly as they headed toward the fourth-floor office, “so if you can’t say something nice, don’t say nothing at all. Got it?”

_ “Anything _ at all,” he said, looking obnoxiously pleased with himself. She paused, tapping her foot with her paws balled on her hips, waiting for him to notice her displeased expression. It didn’t take very long. He must have seen real anger on her face, because his ears went flat and wide and his tail drooped. “Yes, Ma’am. You’re the boss.”

“Thank you. Now let’s go interview Ms. Harfang.”

Thankfully, Wilde had the presence of mind to open the door so that Judy didn’t have to leave professionalism behind just to reach the doorknob. She led the way, hyper-aware of the asset in front of her and the liability trailing behind her. It was a frustrating situation — as crass as it was, the phrase  _ carrot and stick  _ came to mind, and she hated how Zootopian sayings were even infiltrating her thoughts now — but she put on her best smile and made sure her ears were extra perky, because nobody ever got very far by moaning about how bad things were, right? Had Hazel, the titular hero in the  _ Epic of Hazel, _ saved two colonies by sitting back and letting the bad things overwhelm him? No, and neither would she.

“Hello, Ms. Harfang. I’m Detective Judahlia Hopps, and this is my partner, Nicholas Wilde,” she said brightly to the back of the desk. She knew that Tess was there, because she could see feet below the wood. Nick whispered  _ Judahlia  _ under his breath, but she ignored him. She had legally changed her name to Judith in college, since she mostly went by Judy anyway, but she regretted letting go of her name just for a failed chance at fitting in with other mammals, so she was starting to get back into the habit of using her birth name to introduce herself. Or, as close to her birth name as most Zootopians could pronounce, anyway. 

“Detective, you say,” came a voice from behind the desk, and the owner of the feet stood up so that Judy could see her face. “You, I read about. I’ve never heard of a fox detective.”

“He’s a civilian consultant on this case, and our department trusts him completely,” Judy lied.

“I guess that’s something. Is this visit professional or personal?”

In the stories, coyotes looked like small wolves with long limbs. In reality, Tess Harfang had more in common with Wilde than Rivers. Her fur was a mixture of gray and brown, with reddish-orange patches around her ears and across her muzzle. She did have longer limbs, putting her at around 5 feet to Wilde’s 4, and her muzzle was slightly broader, but otherwise, she looked more fox than wolf despite being genetically closer to wolves. It was, to her shame, a little unsettling. Judy’s smile didn’t drop, though. A lead was a lead, and even if Tess had been a  _ vixen,  _ surely Wilde didn’t represent his entire species any more than the Greys from just outside Baniburrah did.

She had to believe that.  _ Foxes weren’t monsters,  _ even if Gideon’s father—

“It’s professional, Ma’am,” she said crisply, pushing her misgivings to the side and holding up her detective shield. She wasn’t willing to allow her fear any more thoughtspace. “I’m looking into a missing mammals case, and we believe you know the victim, Katrina Castleberry.”

“Yeah, I know Kat,” Tess acknowledged with a nod. She came out from behind her desk and leaned against it, crossing her arms and looking at them thoughtfully for a moment. Judy didn’t dare turn to see what shenanigans Wilde might be up to. Finally, Tess said, “We’ve worked together in the past. She asked me to get some photos of the Crookwood vans and employees — that’s Crookwood, Incorporated, the company that owns BugBurga and a bunch of other fast food chains. Plus some other stuff, I guess; Kat left me her notes, too, but I can’t make sense of them. I just figured she dropped off the radar, honestly. She does that sometimes, disappears in a story and then breaks some news that surprises no one, even though everyone should be upset about it.”

Zootopians were so  _ cynical.  _ Judy didn’t understand it. In a city where anyone could be anything, why did so many of them choose to be angry and closed off? Didn’t they realize how precious the freedom to exist in public was? Bunnies often said that the cost of happiness was less than the cost of sorrow; mostly it was used to explain to kits why settling for whatever they could get was important — in that case, happiness meant being comfortable rather than being satisfied — but Judy had always used the idea as a backdrop for her grand ambitions. Her heroes, Hazel and Rusati Naylte, had not settled; they had inspired her to reach for things beyond her immediate grasp. Zootopians just plain had it wrong.

She  _ would  _ find Katrina Castleberry, and nothing could stand in her way.

In a sweeter voice than before, Judy asked, “Would you mind if we took a look at those notes?”

“I don’t know,” Tess said, looking between Judy and Wilde. “I promised Kat I wouldn’t show them to anyone. How can we be sure she isn’t just wrapped up in a case?”

“Her apartment had lots of blood in it, some of it hers. There were signs of a struggle. Her neighbors were the ones who made the call when they realized she was gone.”

Tess looked sick. “Blood? But...yeah. Take the notes. Take a look at my photos too. Crookwood’s rotten from the ground up. If she’s missing, they took her, I’m sure of it.”

Tess went back around her desk and opened a drawer with a small key. From the drawer, she withdrew several manilla folders secured with a thick rubber band, a large clasp envelope, and a small spiral notepad. Judy took them carefully, nestling them in the crook of her elbow as they were sized for a coyote, not a rabbit. With gratitude in her voice, she said, “If you’ll put the word out in your mutual social circles that Ms. Castleberry is missing, that might help. Thank you for your time, Ms. Harfang.”

“Find Kat,” Tess said, “and  _ then  _ you can thank me.”

* * *

It was easy to see why a PI, even a good one, would be confused by large chunks of Kat Castleberry’s notes. At first, Judy had been confused by the long list of numbers, until she’d realized that each line item was a court case; not province-level, but federal level cases, complete with the unique letter code that designated the Judge or Judges assigned to the case. With the new e-filing systems in place, case labeling looked radically different now, but these were old cases. Decades old, even.

Judy knew this, not because she was necessarily invested in case law (it was terribly boring as a study), but because every bunny knew the details of RKJ97-044617HC, also known as Fleetfoot v. Animalia, the personal injury case against the federal government that had resulted in Amendment 20 and the Reclassification Act of 1999. 

Tapping her forefinger beside her cup of tea on the rough surface of a chunky medium-sized table at  _ Espress Yourself,  _ a local coffee shop, she explained, “So Sunline Shortear decided-”

“Sunline,” Wilde — Nick, she supposed, if they were going to be working together — echoed, sounding incredulous. “What kind of name is that?”

“A bunny name,” she replied, and all things considered she thought she was doing a good job not strangling him. She knew he was only interrupting her to annoy her, and she really didn’t want to engage with that. He didn’t deserve that much emotional effort. And he had found them a great place to spread out their documents without anyone listening in, so she’d give him a little credit. “The Commonsized version of it, anyway. It sounds better in Lapine, but you probably couldn’t pronounce it, without practicing your lisps. Anyway, he decided the best way to get things moving was to hit them where it hurts the most. So he begged his owner-”

_ “Owner?” _

Now she  _ knew  _ he was messing with her. Sarcastically, she shot back, “All right, his  _ dearest friend in the whole wide world.  _ He begged Richard Fleetfoot to sue for personal injury on behalf of the entire Shortear clan — all 576 of them, who were…” She snorted at the upcoming euphemism. “...under Fleetfoot’s protection. Of course, Fleetfoot was promised most of the proceeds. Nobody even expected the case to gain local attention, let alone international; it was just to get a foot in the door, medically and legally speaking. The movement was already big enough that they couldn’t ignore the implications, though, so Fleetfoot successfully sued Animalia for 2.6  _ billion.  _ The Reclassification Act was a settlement in lieu of payment.”

“Jeez,” Nick murmured. “Sounds like a lot of work just to say bunnies are legal citizens.”

“Hmm, yes,” she said, her eye a-twitch once more. Did he really think that being callous would make her more amenable to his impossible request? “The point is, these 28 cases here have the same structure: they’re from 1995, 1996, and 2000, presided over by all different Judges, if I’m reading this right. If I had a subscription to Westlaw, I could probably...hmm...I guess I could just pay for a net investigator account; I think it’s only about 150 bucks for the first month, I won’t need it longer than that…”

He stretched his legs out under the table, brushing her toes with his shins. She didn’t flinch at the sudden contact, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable. Was he really stretching, or was this one of those weird displays of dominance she was still learning to recognize? Probably not; Nick wasn’t the type. She couldn’t discount it entirely, but up till now, he hadn’t shown any inclination to be aggressive.

No, he wasn’t aggressive. Just really annoying. With a raised eyebrow, after licking his chops lazily, he asked, “Why not just take all of this to the station and let the nerds deal with it?”

“That takes too long,” she said truthfully. There were so many cases at any one time that it was impossible for Hurriet and her squad to get through the backlog in anything less than a month. Judy didn’t even have that long to solve the  _ case.  _ Furthermore, because of her provisional status, she only had the same access to the server and other police resources that her partner did, and on this one, she didn’t have a partner. But Nick didn’t need to hear about her work troubles, and she wasn’t sure he wouldn’t try to use it against her somehow, so she kept silent about her secondary reasoning. Instead, she simply added, “I have limited access to the system right now due to an...error. They say on TV that the first 48 hours of a missing mammals case are crucial; it’s not completely true, but there is a window. She’s been missing for a week now. If we can figure out what cases she was researching, probably for precedence, maybe we can put the pieces together and figure out what she got too close to.”

He nodded. His face became serious, which she appreciated. Somehow, he’d seemed to be missing the part where  _ a mammal was missing,  _ but maybe he was starting to see how serious this was. “That makes sense, Detective Carrots. It’d be simple for a mega-corporation like Crookwood to disappear someone. Big business is worse than organized crime. Only…”

“Only?”

“What’s with this  _ we  _ stuff? Who said anything about a  _ we?” _

“You did, when you asked for my help.” She flashed her sweetest, most innocent smile, the one she had worn for the cameras on graduation day at Mayor Lionheart’s behest. It made her look cute, which was bad for being taken seriously, but surprisingly good at getting her out of a speeding ticket the one time she’d been pulled over in college. “I know you’re not used to real work, but if you want my help, you need to help me. And stop calling me Detective Carrots.”

“Sorry, you’re right; we’re best buddies now. Forgive me, Carrots.” He did a funny little half-bow in his seat and grinned at her over the rim of his obscenely large coffee cup. “Or do you prefer Stufty? Maybe Fluff? Cutie-Pie?”

Judy took a deep breath in through her nose and pushed it out through her mouth. Of course he couldn’t let go of the time he had seen her basically shoving an entire bag of carrot sticks down her throat during a particularly difficult case; he had called her Detective Carrots ever since, probably just to remind her of that moment of weakness he’d seen. Just Carrots would probably be a step up. At least it wasn’t such a mouthful. “Carrots is fine. I’d prefer if you called me by my name.”

She  _ hated  _ having to capitulate to mammals who didn’t take her seriously. It always felt like the game was stacked against her; in cases like this, she would be given worse and worse options until the original undesirable option seemed great, and she always bought into it because the alternative was wasting time. There was always something more important on the line. In this case, it was the life of their reporter. She could wait to lay into Nick for being a jerk until after they found Kat.

“Right. Well, Carrots, you’ve got me at a disadvantage. You have blackmail on me, and you’re the only officer who won’t look too closely at  _ why  _ Porky hates my guts, you know, aside from being jealous of my  _ foxy  _ good looks, so I guess we are partners for now. But you have to promise me that when you get the chance, you’ll help me out. Otherwise, I’ll have to turn you in for blackmail. We’ll both go down, but at least I’ll have the last laugh.”

“I will do what I can,” she told him. It pained her, but a promise was a promise. 

“And what is that?”

She shrugged. “Give me two weeks of your time, and I’ll backdate your CI registration. That happens all the time; paperwork gets filed wrong, information gets lost, and officers have to just guess at the dates. CI’s are important, and you’ll get some leeway.  _ Not  _ a lot; you won’t be able to break the law and get away with it. But as long as you keep your nose clean — start paying your taxes, too — and nobody’s house breaks or gets eaten by ants because your redwood is just red wood, with a space in the middle and refined sugar on the end, you should be able to keep doing business as usual.”

“Oh, come on, nobody’s house is going to break.”

“You really think ice cream sticks are good for building much? At best, the whole load has to be scrapped because it’s bad quality. Maybe all the red parts are sold as-is to some local startup who doesn’t know how to treat them, uses them for the aesthetic factor, and they get sued for selling furniture that attracts insects. Another local business done for in a world of unethical corporations like Crookwood. At worst, someone gets lazy, the sticks are dyed and treated with all the other wood, and someone gets injured by their own hardwood floor cracking under their feet. If it were me, I’d stop the lumber part of your little scheme. You’re seriously putting mammals in danger. But it’s none of my business. That’s Porcino’s area.”

He looked like he’d sucked on a lemon. His cheeks were flat against his teeth and his eyes were narrow, and once again, his ears were wide and flattened. She wondered how he could have possibly overlooked the damage his scheme could do. Or maybe he just hadn’t thought past the bottom line. Hustlers, thieves...they all thought alike. They were self-serving and self-obsessed. Do-gooder types, like Robin Hood or Sly Cooper, just  _ didn’t exist.  _ The closest thing they had to those legends was Anonymouse, the unorganized “hacktivist” group who stole and released information (and made things difficult for any corporation or agency one of them might deem worthy of an attack), and even then, who knew what their motives were, or what made an agency deserving of attack, or how much of the information they “stole” was even real. 

She softened a little. She didn’t really know his story. For all she knew, he had tried and failed to get legitimate jobs, and had fallen back on something easy. That had happened to Judy’s brother Moondancer, after all; he’d come back to the farm with nothing to show for his ambition, but maybe Nick hadn’t  _ had  _ anywhere to go back to. “Nick, I’m not trying to be mean to you, I promise. I’m just pointing out a safety issue.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, and took a big gulp from his mug.

It was time to get back on track.

“Aside from the court cases, which I’ll have to figure out, we’ve got a  _ lot  _ of stuff on Crookwood. Our ocelot coded her notes, but it’s just Atbash, which is probably why she left them with someone she trusted; anyone could read these after more than just a cursory glance.”

“I’d have hidden them in something stupid,” Nick commented, leaning over to get a peek at the notebook Judy was studying. He smiled up at her, batting his eyelashes. “Dear diary, the other boys were so mean to me today. They said my ears were too wide and my beautiful tail was gross! Speaking of gross, here’s what Crookwood is up to lately. I wish Lauren would just ask me out already. I’m  _ so  _ tired of waiting around for this corporation to be evil in public.”

“Not quite,” she said quietly. His joke had actually been kind of funny that time, but as she deciphered Kat’s notes, she felt more and more worried. “Nick, listen to this.  _ July 6, 2017. 60 cases full of Amanita phalloides delivered to access tunnel. Small team of 1 ram and 2 boars met the trucks, changed the plates, and replaced the shipping labels. Rescued label attached to the back of this page.  _ This is from  _ two  _ years ago. She’s been following this Crookwood thing for two years, and look: the label says  _ Woolfyre Industries.  _ Which is a subsidiary of-”

“Crookwood, yeah, I can guess,” Nick said sourly. “Woolfyre used to deal in textiles and mass-produced fashion. Drove local sartors and designers right out of Happytown. I guess now they deal in — armadillo phalluses?”

_ “Amanita phalloides,”  _ she corrected, trying and failing to keep her laughter in check. “Colloquially known as the death cap. One of the most toxic toadstools in the world, and its chemical makeup makes the toxin more or less heat resistant, so you can’t cook it out or soften it like you can with its cousin,  _ Amanita muscaria.  _ There is no good reason to ship these anywhere, let alone do a shady drop in a place that has no cameras, unless you want to poison a lot of mammals.”

“But that entry is from two years ago. I think we’d have heard something if large swathes of mammals just started dropping dead of mushroom poisoning.” He paused, and gave her a Look. “And  _ why  _ do you know that?”

“Everybody jokes that bunnies are only good at multiplying, but trust me, our real area of expertise is plant husbandry. Most of our nursery rhymes have names like  _ The Berry Song  _ and  _ Don’t Eat Me, I’m Deadly.  _ My little nine-year-old niece Cotton could tell you more about beets than you would ever want to know.”

“I already know all I need to know about them, which is that they’re not edible,” he said flatly. He shifted in his seat and turned his head; she turned the notebook so that they were both looking at it diagonally, and it was uncomfortable, but it was better than sitting side by side. He sniffed the page and made a face. “Smells like shit.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, if she followed the mushrooms to somewhere they’re cultivating spores,” Judy reasoned.

“Cultivating — growing more poison? Don’t they have enough already?”

She shrugged away her growing unease. She was supposed to be the professional here; she didn’t want to set a bad example for her civilian consultant. “I guess it depends on what they want to use it for. If it’s been at least two years, it’s probably something huge. We’ll have to keep powering through these notes.”

“Not here,” he denied with a shake of his head. His eyes darted side to side. “If there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that if you’re sitting on dangerous information, you shouldn’t let on that you have it. That’s how you become a statistic. Just another body under the Tundratown ice flats.”

She didn’t mention Mr. Big. Neither of them had to. Although it was unlikely that his operation was involved in something that could, with enough toadstools and a slick distribution process, potentially wipe out the city he genuinely loved, his method of disposal wasn’t uncommon, because it was so easy to mimic and so effective. Break a hole in the ice flats, and the poor soul wouldn’t be seen until months later, if at all.

“I have a place we can go,” she said reluctantly. She hadn’t wanted to resort to showing him where she lived, but he was right: it wasn’t safe to discuss this stuff in public. Who knew what kind of mammals might be listening?

* * *

The Grand Pangolin Arms was an ugly but otherwise unassuming former office building in the spiral arm of Happytown — officially District 13 — and as a detective, Judy should have been able to afford something a little nicer, but she was still on provisional pay. It was enough to live on, but she’d already deferred her student loans, so here she stayed while she waited to reap what she’d sown. Just one more case. Once she found Kat Castleberry, District Chief Bogo would  _ have  _ to follow through and take her off provisional status.

The building in question was very obviously not zoned for housing; the large communal kitchen and dining area had, once upon a time, been a cafeteria, there were two communal bathrooms on each floor (one with toilet stalls, and one with sketchy DIY shower stations), and the apartments themselves were either former offices or former offices with plywood down the middle. Fortunately, the local ordinances in Happytown were lax enough that nobody would shut down the building unless it got infested — hence the mandatory monthly delousing. Judy lived between Destiny, who was a pole dancer at  _ Delight Me,  _ and a married couple, Bucky and Pronk Oryx-Antlerson. Destiny was quiet enough, being on the other side of a reinforced wall, but Bucky and Pronk on the other side of a plywood wall covered in ugly wallpaper  _ never shut up, _ and they had the irritating habit of listening in on anything she was doing, or asking her to change her music, or providing her with commentary on her “sad life.” Joke was on them. Judy’s life was anything but sad. Sure, she had some hardships, but…

She eyed Nick, who was studying the walls with disgusted fascination. Okay, it was a little sad at the moment, but things would get better. And anyway, as annoying as her neighbors were, she knew she could rely on them in a jam, just as they knew they could rely on her. Their whole building was like a big family; it was almost like she’d made her own colony in Zootopia, without having to go through the obnoxious process of choosing a buck and having kits. She had always been a little less bunny than the rest of her family; she didn’t want any kits at all, and although bunny culture didn’t have a firm concept of romantic love, Judy was quite keen on experiencing that.

“Wow,” said Nick, walking very close to her, apparently in an attempt to keep from touching the walls. “The ZPD is marginally smarter than I thought! No one would think to look for a safehouse...here…”

She pushed her door open and tapped her foot, unsure whether to be offended or not. “Get inside, Slick Nick, and shut your mouth, you’ll catch flies.”

“Rickety bed...greasy walls,” he said dumbly as he took in her tiny place. She rolled her eyes and locked the door behind them.

_ “THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID,”  _ Bucky or Pronk shouted.

“...Crazy neighbors,” Nick finished. 

Mostly for symmetry, although she knew that Nick wouldn’t get it, Judy said, “I love it.”

“Why do you live here? No, wait.” He sat gingerly on the foot of her bed, looking  _ very  _ awkward, and Judy savored the view. Maybe it was petty, but she deserved a little treat.  _ “How  _ do you live here?”

She pointed at the microwave perched atop her mini-freezer. “Frozen dinners.” She pointed to the desk, which held her work notes, her tablet, and a basket of produce. “Nighttime study.” She pointed to her bed, thankfully not covered in stuffed bunnies anymore. “Sleep.” Finally, she pointed to the wheelie rack in the corner, complete with two drawers on the bottom. “Clothing and personal items. It’s very convenient. Now, shall we get down to business?”

_ “KNEW YOU HAD IT IN YOU, BUNNY,”  _ shouted Bucky or Pronk — it was probably Bucky — with glee.

_ “SHUT UP, HE’S NOT THERE TO BONE, SHE’S NOT A PROSTITUTE,”  _ the other one shouted.

_ “YOU SHUT UP! IT’S FINE IF SHE IS! BETTER THAN BEING A COP!” _

_ “NO, YOU SHUT UP!” _

“It’s like a variety show you can’t look away from,” Nick said. He folded his arms across his chest. “How are we supposed to work here? I thought you said this was a safehouse. Your neighbors can hear everything we say.”

“They’re trustworthy, Nick. We take care of each other here.”

_ “HA! YOU SHOULDA HEARD HER TEAR INTO FÉLINIA’S PARENTS!” _

She laughed lightly. That had been a little terrifying, standing up to two full-grown tigers who were harassing and deliberately misgendering their daughter, but it was either that, or let Pronk punch the father, which would have ended badly for everyone. Félinia now invited Judy to dinner on days off, which was nice, because all those frozen dinners hadn’t helped her stay healthy and the tigress was good company. She didn’t have time to explain these dynamics to Nick, though. They were onto something big. “Besides, nobody will be able to hear us talk over the sound of my favorite Gazelle album.  _ DÓNDE ESTÁN LOS LADRONES, PRONK?” _

“Oh, not again,” Pronk said, finally at a normal volume. “Fine, Bunny, you win! We’re going out. Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do!”

“What wouldn’t you do,” she challenged through the wall, settling down against her headboard. No reason for either of them to be uncomfortable on the desk chair that someone had probably dug out of a dumpster when furnishing the room.

“A threesome with a zombie! Bye, Bunny,” Bucky called, and the door slammed.

“No...zombie...threesomes,” Nick said, pretending to write it down. “Got it. Also, I  _ get  _ it. You’re not crazy because you’re a bunny. You’re crazy because you live here.”

“Astounding, Dr. Dawson,” she said dryly. “A well-reasoned argument indeed. Okay, now that we’re alone, let’s get to work. You take that folder and I’ll take this one. It shouldn’t take us very long, maybe a couple of hours.”

“If I wanted to do homework, I’d have stayed in school,” Nick muttered, but took her proffered folder anyway. She had him by the ears, and although it wasn’t ideal to involve him in paperwork, the alternative was to let him sit in her apartment while she took double the time to go over the notes. Who knew what he might choose to do in a fit of boredom?

_ August 12, 2017. Woolfyre merger with Dogson & Bayard. No spores at warehouses. Grow op in Happytown but no A.p., only weed. Dead lead; check every 3 weeks. _

_ M.T. still missing. #16-1661-42, RTD. Final docs due 08/25 or case dismissed. Related? _

_ September 8, 2017. M.T. found with suicide note on 08/27; ruled suicide. Official report attached Exhibit D. Highlight: paws smelled like excrement. Involved in grow? Filed police report. Response unlikely. _

_ September 14, 2017. Withdrawal of counsel #15-2399-42, POY. M.T. was slated to testify. Another drop at tunnel, 40 crates of A.p. _

_ September 14, 2017. Tried to follow van. Pulled over by Beat Officer Hooferton for speeding. Let off with warning. Wasn’t speeding. Involved or just an accident? _

It went on like this, pages and pages of observations but only initials for key parties and the occasional reference to either contemporary or old court cases. There were a lot of phrases like  _ withdrawal of counsel —  _ meaning that an attorney had decided not to represent a party anymore — and  _ due or case dismissed —  _ meaning that a case had had no action in long enough that the Court had determined keeping the case open was no longer worthwhile. Neither of those was particularly uncommon, especially in civil cases, but if all of the contemporary cases involved Crookwood (or one of its subsidiaries), that presented a worrying pattern. 

It looked like Crookwood had been paying off lawyers and witnesses. Kat Castleberry certainly hadn’t been the first mammal to disappear. The real question was, had she kept it to herself after reporting her concerns about whoever M.T. was...or had her reports been “lost,” too? 

“Nick,” she said, focusing most of her attention on opening the envelope of photos.

“Yeah, Carrots?”

“Do you know who the C.E.O. Of Crookwood is?”

“Do I  _ look  _ like Zoogle to you?”

She looked at him. He looked oddly stressed, and was barely through the first few pages of his own folder. She shrugged and scooted closer to take some of his pile of papers. “You’re just always saying you know everybody. I know I can find the name on Zoogle, I was just...well, smartphones don’t really exist out in Baniburrah, so I keep forgetting I have a computer in my pocket. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, that’s weird,” he said flatly. He looked up at her with a scowl. “How did you get through those so fast?”

“Well, I didn’t try to match the case numbers to anything, I just noted them,” she explained.

“So you just...read them.”

Hesitantly, she answered, “Yes?”

With obvious exasperation, he asked, “How is it that you can get lost in  _ Savanna Central  _ but you can just... _ read  _ some code that I had to look up on Zoogle?”

She thought about spending recess lovingly going over Animalian sentence structure, familiarizing herself with the letter sounds, writing simple sentences for the joy of overcoming a problem. She thought about playing junior detective around the farm, spying on her older siblings, using codes to keep her journals from being read by nosy littermates. She thought about her brief stint with an activist group in college, before she’d gotten an academic warning. But she didn’t say what was on her mind, because most of that was silly anyway. Instead, she smiled at him and said, “Savanna Central was made for large mammals. Simple codes just take practice.”

“Well, what I  _ have  _ managed to decipher is completely uncool.” He gestured to the smaller stack. “Most of that is notes on mergers and name changes and absorptions or buyouts of local businesses. I’m not saying you’d need a conspiracy board to keep it straight...but I’m not  _ not,  _ either. Carrots…” He didn’t sound smug anymore, and he looked at her with real worry. “What have you dragged me into here?”

“I have no idea,” she admitted, “but whatever it is, it’s not good.”

“I have a feeling — an  _ inkling —  _ a tiny little  _ hunch —  _ that if I ask you to get backup, you’re going to tell me there isn’t any available.”

“Why would you think that?”

He laughed and leaned back on her bed to rest on his elbows, making sure to keep from crinkling the papers. Still, she began to move them out of the way just in case. “I’m not stupid. I always see you out alone. I mean, I’m genuinely surprised that  _ this  _ is the case your boss decided is worth filing in cold cases, but-”

“This case is  _ not  _ going to go cold,” she said tightly.

“Pretty sure it is, if you’ve got no backup and no resources, Fluff ‘n Stuff. Your best bet is to give it to someone who has the authority to  _ handle  _ it.”

She gritted her teeth. Nick had no way of knowing the dynamics of the ZPD. He had no way of understanding how much of her  _ life  _ was riding on this case. And he didn’t need to. They weren’t friends, and she didn’t have any guarantee that if she did tell him, he wouldn’t try to make it harder on her just to get rid of her. What she  _ could  _ do, though, was use his obvious disdain for the ZPD to her advantage. “Nobody else wants to solve this. Think about it: if the Chief thinks I’m going to fail, then he doesn’t care about this case. The case file was almost completely empty; when I came to you, the  _ only thing I had  _ was that photo and her name. Maybe she’s just a statistic to mammals like the Chief. Maybe the other detectives in my department think she’s just a statistic, too. But not me. I can’t save everyone, but Frith help me, I’m going to save  _ her.  _ Are you going to help me, or am I going to kick you out of my apartment?”

“You oughtta go into motivational speaking, Carrots. I was moved. Truly. To the bottom of my heart,” he said with his paw on his chest, sitting up straight. She couldn’t tell if his sarcastic tone was real, or just being used to cover up actual positive feelings. “Sure, I guess I’ll keep helping you, so long as  _ you  _ stick to your end of the deal. Two weeks. That’s all you’re getting from me, two weeks. And that’s gonna go by pretty slowly if we don’t have any resources.”

“We don’t have any  _ police  _ resources,” she corrected, feeling a somewhat devious smile creep across her face, “but that doesn’t mean we don’t have any at all. Tell me, Nick. Do you know what Francesca Largo named her baby three years ago?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Judahlia, in Lapine, would be written Ÿudeehlï pronounced Yjoo-day-HLEEuh, with a sort of cheek-lisp on the hl and the gliding ea I mentioned before. For A.C. speakers, it's Joo-DAY-lee-yuh, mostly because Judy stopped trying to correct teachers who kept getting it wrong. That's lowkey why she changed it to Judith, which I think we can all agree was a sad decision, but not an uncommon one. Kids should be able to take pride in their names, not be ashamed of them.
> 
> Before anyone gets on my back about it: Nick is my favorite character, but let's be real, he was myopic and small-minded in canon, straight up. Every time I read anything that suggests Nick's bullshit toward Judy (and to a lesser extent, Dawn Bellwether and the timber wolves) was anything but speciesist bullying/speciesist commentary, I die a little on the inside. His character's so great largely because he affirmatively changed himself. Brushing off his bad behavior for the sake of making him look better ultimately makes him a weaker character overall. I like me a strong Nick, so sue me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I apparently have to make this clear, say it with me: there is no such thing as minority privilege. _There is no such thing as minority privilege._ Stop it. Now, on with the show.

As soon as Nick’s footsteps had faded, Judy pressed her back against her locked door, heart pounding in her chest. With his presence no longer immediate, her body released a lot of stress at once; she felt faint, or maybe just hot, or...it wasn’t a good feeling, and she didn’t like feeling that way. It was a rational response to spending a lot of time with someone who would have eaten her just a few decades ago, but for some reason, being scared was supposed to be _speciesist_ now. The city was governed by different rules that said rational caution was inappropriate, and the guilt was just as potent as the fear.

But _why_ was she supposed to feel guilty? Nobody had ever explained it. Even the predators from the activist group in college had shrugged off the explanation part and accepted her anyway. It was easy to pay lip service to civilization, to modern ideals, to equality. Most of the time, it wasn’t even lip service; she believed in these things. She was proof that society could move forward, albeit at the unacceptably glacial pace that pseudo-progressivists like Assistant Mayor Dawn Bellwether preached. But she had been a detective long enough to see that behind the shining beacon of justice, there were dark shadows. Mammals who would manipulate and gaslight their domestic partners, and play victim after the inevitable violent outcome — oh, but he _made_ me kill him, oh, but she _asked_ for it — or any of a number of similar things. She knew that monsters existed, regardless of species.

And if these mammals could bring themselves to charm and then harm those they had grown up believing were mammals, what would they be capable of doing to someone they had grown up believing were pets?

The more she spoke with Nick, the less she understood him. Half the time, he seemed so unapologetically callous, willing to pretend away millennia of bondage and exploitation — or tease her about it, as he’d done in the coffee shop when she had mentioned Richard Fleetfoot, who’d had to register as a pet breeder just to keep the Shortear clan from being separated and sold to other owners after he’d rescued them from an illegal meat operation — and other times, he seemed to actually care about things. She would be able to trust him better if he were consistent, but he wasn’t, and considering his profession, it wasn’t wise to trust him anyway. It wasn’t wise to like him...

...But she kind of _did._ When he wasn’t making jokes at her expense, he wasn’t all that bad. He was quick on the uptake and he was observant. From what little she knew about him, she would be willing to bet that he’d be a great partner. But he was a hustler, and a liar, and egocentric. And a _fox,_ she couldn’t forget that. Maybe he was a good one, but it was like Gideon had said all those years ago: eating bunnies was in their DNA. She liked to think that all mammals were better than their instincts, but around someone who used species stereotypes like a weapon, how could she be _sure?_

Even her own saliva tasted like battery acid as she tried to calm her own physiological reaction. She hadn’t spent this much time with a fox since before Reclassification, and that had ended bitterly anyway. She had to believe in the goodness of all mammals. She _had_ to. Nick was a jerk (until he wasn’t), and he was self-involved (until he wasn’t), but he wasn’t going to eat her. ...That didn’t, however, mean he wasn’t going to _hurt_ her. Given his track record, she didn’t think he’d lose much sleep over it, no matter how much his smile felt like he was letting her in on a secret.

She wouldn’t let him get under her fur.

She was fine.

She was _fine._

Intending to get her mind off of things, she took a deep breath, settled down on her bed, pulled her phone out of her pocket, and video called her mother. Smartphones weren’t common in Baniburrah because nobody had anyone to call that they couldn’t just go visit, but out of everyone, “Bonnie” and “Stu” Hopps knew the most about modern technology. After all, they were in charge of dealing with the public. Most of Judy’s siblings didn’t even speak A.C.

“Judy,” her mother joyfully greeted, and Judy’s chest hurt at the sound of the soft J. Sometimes she surprised herself with how much she missed her family; after being told so many times that she shouldn’t aspire to anything greater than what she already had, leaving the farm had felt like liberation. “How is my daughter?”

Slipping easily into the language of her childhood, Judy replied, “Things are still great. I called to hear about how everyone else is doing.”

Judy watched in mild amusement as her mother put her face up close to the screen, as though she might be able to get a better view of Judy that way. Her suspicious squint was a familiar sight, as Judy hadn’t exactly been the most rule-abiding kit on the farm, always involving herself in some mystery or other, reading the grown-up books on the shelf and sneaking off to the new town to talk to the mammals who had built houses and businesses on what should have been bunny land. “What are you not telling me, Judahlia?”

“I…Mom, I just need to hear someone’s voice.” Her mother’s squint didn’t change, and Judy caved. “Did you hear the news about Mayor Lionheart?”

“Someone killed him in his sleep. A political enemy, right?”

She shrugged and settled against her headboard so that she could prop her phone in her lap. “They don’t know who it was, but they think it was politically motivated. They’re investigating it that way. It’s a sad thing for everyone here in Zootopia. He was a good mammal.”

“And your sponsor,” Bonnie replied matter-of-factly. “Where does that leave you after three months? Do you need to come home?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? “I don’t know where it leaves me. Legally, I’m in limbo. I should be a full citizen by now, but — there’s no Lapine word for this, _District_ Chief Bogo — he doesn’t like me, so even though he had to keep me at work, he refused to take me off my provisional status. Now that he doesn’t have Mayor Lionheart forcing him, he’s trying to force me out. I have an impossible case, and I gave my word I would help someone who hates me, and...I don’t know what to do. I’m scared, and I’m _angry,_ but I’m not allowed to show it, or else they’ll say I’m too emotionally volatile. My fear is dumb and my anger is _cute.”_

It was a challenge. Judy wasn’t usually full of emotion to begin with; she was focused, determined, and when she did have strong feelings, she knew how to use them and turn them into a strength. Fear helped her danger sense. Shame and pride both helped her find her way around in a place that didn’t always make sense. Sadness taught her what her limits were. And anger made her focus. That was all fine, but only if she kept it on the inside. It was so frustrating that a brute like Porcino was allowed to punch the bag until everything melted away, but if Judy so much as scowled, it was a meltdown.

Bonnie clucked her tongue, unaware of Judy’s thoughts. “I think you should come home. Forget about being a detective. If they don’t appreciate you, they don’t deserve you. Aren’t you the one always talking about not settling for less?”

“I just want to do some good for the world! I have a chance to save someone, a missing mammal who probably got hurt by one of the big corporations that tried to force you and Dad to sell to them. I could...I think Nick and I might...of course, Nick's just as big of a problem. I don't know whether or not he even sees me as a mammal. But I can't give up. Chief Bogo doesn't care about this missing ocelot. I do.”

There was quiet. Then, with a sour expression, Bonnie said, “That city stole my daughter from me. You've poured your heart into helping mammals who want to eat you. You changed your name for them. You don't come home because you're afraid they won't let you go back. And now you're working with some _male_ who doesn't see you as a mammal? Judahlia, don't let them steal your life from me, too.”

“It's my life, though,” Judy retorted, but it was quiet. Her mother wasn't wrong; they just didn't agree. Judy had given up a lot for mammals who didn't appreciate or respect her. The name thing, especially, had bothered her parents; before the meat farm had shut down, their names had been “Bunny” and “Stew,” and they had given their kits traditional bunny names because they'd never had any names but cruel jokes until they had chosen Animalian names for business purposes.

But. _But._ This wasn't the old days. Redteeth barely existed. Her parents saw danger around every corner, but Judy _knew_ mammals could be better! They just needed to see. How could anyone accept bunnies as just as good if nobody bothered to _try?_ Someone had to force the issue, and Judy made just as much sense as anyone else. More, actually, because she didn’t have kits relying on her or a companion to leave behind. If anything bad happened to her, there were some mammals who would mourn, but overall the impact would be small.

“And you are still my daughter,” Bonnie said finally, after a stretchd pause. She eyed the screen, and even though they were hundreds of miles away from each other, Judy still felt like a naughty kit. How was that even possible? At least her heart was under control now that she was being reprimanded. Still, she almost preferred the fear from before. Nick, for all that he could be condescending, never managed to _actually_ make her feel small, because he was objectively wrong about who she was on a personal level; Bonnie knew Judy well enough to make points that dug in deep. “I hurt when my kits hurt. You’re hurting right now, or you would have just asked about the colony again. Is it really only just work that’s bothering you?”

She sighed. What could her mother do, realistically, with the truth? Nothing. She didn’t have to protect her own mother from adult problems the way she did with her favorite niece Cotton. “It’s a fox, my problem is a fox. We’re working together. I don’t want to be scared of him; he’s not like Ethan Grey. But he’s not like Gideon, either. He’s a jerk, and he doesn’t respect me, and he _lies_ all the time — but when he stops paying attention, he’s not like that at all. Or maybe I have it backwards. Maybe he’s trying to trick me. He’s good at tricks and he's proud of it, so I can't trust him, even though I want to, even though I don't _want_ to want to. And I don’t feel good about being afraid.”

“Why?”

“Because...aside from the social problems it causes in the big city, I’m beginning to like him, Mom, even though I know better. How do I know this won’t turn out _just like_ Gideon Grey?” She blinked back a sudden well of tears that she hadn’t felt in her chest, but couldn’t ignore now. “How do I keep myself from getting fooled again?”

“Pain is the cost of trust. You have to decide how much pain you’re willing to risk. I won’t tell you what to do; Frith knows you’ll do the opposite just to prove yourself.” Judy physically flinched at the assessment, which just three years prior wouldn’t have been inaccurate. Her mother continued, “Experience taught us not to trust foxes, and your father and I made sure you didn’t forget the lesson. But we _were_ wrong about Gideon, and maybe we’re wrong about this other fox too...although he doesn’t sound promising. It’s funny you should bring Gideon up, actually; he’s back in Baniburrah. He came here looking for you.”

“I have to go,” she said quickly as the tears threatened to become sobs. She couldn’t deal with that — not now, not when she was so stressed. She didn’t want to think about it. She couldn’t afford to let anything get in the way. Why had she thought calling home would be a good idea? It hadn’t solved anything. And now, _this._

“Judy-”

“Bye, Mom.”

She ended the call and pulled her favorite stuffed animal out from underneath her pillow, cradling it to her chest while she curled around it and let the real crying start. It hurt, and it was awful, and she really hated crying. It always made her feel so out of control; her body did things without her permission, it was often hard to breathe, and she always felt drained afterward, and maybe there was a little catharsis sometimes, but it didn’t solve problems, it just postponed problem-solving. She just...couldn’t help it this time. So she buried her face in the toy, hoping it would at least muffle her noise.

The little plush fox, wearing overalls and a happy smile, had at different times been a comfort and a bitter reminder of what she’d lost. Sometimes she hoped he had scars from where she had scratched him across the face. Sometimes she wished she could take everything back. She knew, logically, that he had probably been traumatized by what he’d seen, but she wasn’t sure she could forgive him for what he had said — about his parents, about bunnies, about _biology —_ and she hated that she had to think about it at all when Kat Castleberry's life was on the line.

“If you turned out like your father, I will end you,” she whispered shakily into the toy’s faux fur. Even more quietly, she added, “I still miss you.”

* * *

The interesting thing about Snarlbucks, Judy thought, was that every single one looked the same. It didn’t matter whether it was for tiny mammals or for megafauna; it used the same colors, the same fixtures, the same lighting. The tables were all the same, the wall art had the same color schemes...it was, in a way, a visual representation of the Zootopian attitude, for better or for worse. Judy wasn’t sure she would ever get used to it — the attitude _or_ the sameness of big chains. In Baniburrah, which was about 95% bunnies, diversity was a given. Each family had their own traditions and styles. The Lopear family, for example, had already built a shrine to their Harvest Goddess, and did their best to fashion their household after the earthy, tunnel-ridden warrens in the stories that had been passed down through generations. The Hopps clan, on the other paw, preferred an estate that had at least one level aboveground for easy access to the outdoors that wouldn’t allow for flooding during bad storms, and although they did pay lip service to Frith, it was more cultural than religious. The Cloverleaf clan was patriarchal, where most bunnies counted lineage through the female line, since they knew for certain which kits belonged to which mother. And, of course, the 5% population that was other mammals, like the Catmulls and the Woolstons and the Greys and the Snagfangs, had brought their own styles to their rapidly-developing town.

Zootopia, though...it was full of suburbs and chain stores and multiclass apartments. It didn’t lack soul, exactly, and the diversity of mammals was usually enough to make up for the bland uniformity, but once again, it hammered home that to live in a multiclass city, especially one that was more or less universally accessible like Zootopia, meant capitulating to the forced hegemony that only _really_ benefited larger prey. After three years in the shining city, Judy had lost the stars in her eyes and could see that it was mostly just one giant Snarlbucks. And speaking of…

She met Fru-Fru at the location closest to Little Rodentia that catered to small mammals, although it did have a walk-up for larger mammals who, for whatever reason, had chosen to venture into the smalls shopping district. Nick was waiting by the fountain across the street, working on a “project” on his phone that Judy doubted was strictly legal, but she’d ignore the possibility if it meant a peaceful partnership for the next twelve days. After that, if he wanted to dig his own grave, that was fine with her; she would do her part at the precinct and let him ski off a cliff if he so desired.

(She wouldn’t get fooled again.)

“Judy,” Fru-Fru called, sounding excited, once she had her coffee. Judy was excited, too. Although Paul Largo was also Mr. Big, he had never asked Judy for a favor; he understood as well as she did how important their cooperation was. Therefore, Judy was able to have a thriving friendship with Fru-Fru. If there were strings attached, they were emotional, not mob-related.

Little Judy was absent — probably being tended by Fru-Fru’s husband, who absolutely doted on his daughter and largely remained uninvolved with the Big operation. This was preferable, anyway. Little Judy was at an age where she was beginning to understand concepts, and this wasn’t exactly a child-friendly conversation.

“It’s been too long, Fru,” she said genuinely, holding out her paw for the little shrew to touch. “No Kevin today?”

Fru-Fru scoffed. “He’s always prowling around outside when I’m in a smalls zone. I told him to go shopping for his son’s birthday in the mega strip. Daddy won’t mind. He knows I’m safe with you. You said on the phone you’re in some kind of trouble?”

“Oh, no, _I’m_ not in trouble,” Judy assured her friend, “but I’m working a case, and my boss is...well, I don’t have a partner, and since I’m on provisional status, I don’t have access to the system. I made a deal; if I don’t solve this case, the Chief will force me out. I was just hoping I could get a few minutes with the oracle to see if she knows anything about either my missing ocelot or any of the court cases I have written down.”

“I really hate that buffalo,” Fru-Fru commented before taking a short sip of her drink. She made a face. “Ooh, that’s too hot. You know you always got a place with us. Daddy would sponsor you, and you could just be part of the family.”

“I know,” Judy replied. In a dark moment, just after the Mayor had been assassinated, she had even considered begging Mr. Big for sponsorship. It would have kept her from doing her job, though; a sponsorship from a known crime boss wasn’t exactly acceptable for law enforcement; and she knew she wouldn’t be able to tolerate the kind of work she would likely be asked to do. “You know why I can’t do that, Fru.”

“Yeah...I just don’t wanna see you go, you know? Do you really think someone like Idris Bogo would keep his word when it means admitting he’s wrong? I can get you in with the oracle; I can even have our bears keep an eye out if you want when they’re out doing their thing anyway. Daddy’s been itching for the chance to get one over on your Chief after that pointless raid on the fish market, so helping you rewards everybody with hardly any fuss. Just promise me you’ll keep us in mind if things don’t go your way.”

“I will,” she promised.

She sipped her coffee uneasily. She hadn’t spent too much time thinking about what getting a new sponsor might look like. Not every mammal could be a sponsor; they had to be able to prove they could physically and financially take care of a bunny, they had to register, and they had extra liabilities. Although it was humiliating, Bogo hadn’t exactly been _off_ when he’d said bunnies were a bit of a fashion statement for the rich and famous. It was a visible act of charity. And while she _could_ see, _sort of,_ where the logic in requiring sponsorship was — bunnies were vulnerable, not everyone considered them sentient, and a sponsor could bring a separate suit against someone who attacked “their” bunny, making it doubly dangerous to attack one — it felt too much like ownership, humiliating and degrading and full of implications. Even with Mayor Lionheart, as paws-off as he had been in her personal affairs, she had felt the expectations. She’d had an unspoken duty of care to him and to his interests. She was lucky he had never asked her for anything...but sometimes, she saw a bunny working in a garden, and she wondered if it was a legitimate job or an order from a less scrupulous sponsor. It was such a bizarre concept, too; if bunnies _really_ needed that much protection, then why was sponsorship no longer a requirement after a bunny earned citizenship?

She didn’t want to owe her freedom to the mob, as much as sponsorship constituted freedom, anyway. But was there really anyone else in Zootopia who could (or would) sponsor someone who’d been let go from a government position?

“How are you doing, though,” Fru-Fru asked after a moment of silence. That was one of the things Judy liked about her friend; although she _liked_ to chat, she knew from family matters the value of silence. Bunnies valued silence, too, though that was changing with the younger generations, who had fewer reasons to hide from larger mammals. “Outside work, how’s things?”

“I’m all right. I talked to my mother last night and I’ve picked up a new CI — sorry, that’s work-related.” She looked down at her knees. “You know me; I’m always at work, even when I’m off-duty.”

“Nah, Judy, I like that about you. You’re focused. It’s hard to find focused mammals, you know? Nowadays everybody’s got something else on their mind. We had to get a new accountant last week cos he was skimmin’ off the top. Course, we’re taking care of his wife and daughter till they get back on their feet,” was the casual reply, and Judy tried not to flinch. Mob business. If she was reading the situation right, their old accountant had been iced. Of course, Fru-Fru hadn’t said that, and if called to testify, she’d probably have no problem lying, either in a deposition or straight to a jury. It was sometimes a little frustrating, though, to be friends with someone who was so cavalier about what amounted to murder.

Then again, it hadn’t been too long ago that meat farms were a thriving business, just 60 years or so. Judy supposed that it didn’t even have to feel like murder, if you thought of your employees as assets instead of mammals. When an asset became a liability, it needed to be liquidated.

Yeah, no. She didn’t want to owe the kind of debt to Mr. Big that sponsorship would cost.

“Let’s not talk about me,” Judy suggested, because anything she said would be uncharacteristically bitter. “How is Little Judy doing?”

Seeming to catch on, Fru-Fru nodded with a smile. “Oh, she’s getting so big and brave! Just yesterday she told Koslov’s son to go jump in a lake.”

Judy laughed at the image and let the knot in her stomach ease. Little Judy always made for the best stories.

* * *

Rejuvenated after half an hour with her friend and the promise of a meeting with the oracle at noon the following day, Judy met Nick at the fountain with a little more pep in her step. He was looking intently at his phone, but he looked up quickly enough; she only had a moment to see that he’d been playing sudoku before he cleared the screen and turned it black. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been that.

“Did you get to order anyone into the ice pit,” he asked crudely as a greeting.

She huffed and put her paws on her hips, but thought better about defending herself. He’d just find a way to turn it around on her, so she answered, “I can’t comment on that, but _you_ might want to watch your back for the next month or so.”

He eyed her before apparently deciding she was just kidding. As awful as it was, she got a little thrill out of _him_ being the uncertain one for a change. Normally, she didn’t like the idea of a civilian being afraid of her, but Nick was different. Maybe if he saw her as a threat, he’d stop treating her like a thing. “Well, I hope you got good news.”

“I got us a meeting with the oracle tomorrow at noon,” she countered with a bright smile, deciding to sit down next to him. Familiarize herself with proximity and scent. If she wanted to get through the next twelve days without any more incidents, she had to stop being afraid of him. Caution was fine, but fear wouldn’t help find Kat. “You know, you could have come in with us. That location is for small mammals, not tiny ones.”

“Yeah, the mob and I don’t exactly see eye to eye,” he told her in an uncharacteristic fit of honesty. He shifted and brushed her with his tail. She froze at the contact, ears upright and heart pounding, and hoped he didn’t notice the overreaction. “There was some unpleasant business about, oh, a little over a decade ago, and Mr. Big has a long memory.”

“I’m sure he’d be willing to forgive whatever it was you did if you paid him back in good faith,” she suggested, trying to sound supportive.

“He buried his nan in a rug I sold him,” he said flatly.

She thought about all the ways he might have cut corners on _that_ little scheme and winced. “You didn’t get the spare fur from a salon, did you?”

“HA! If only.” He turned and looked at her head-on and she pretended she didn’t feel like an insect under a magnifying glass. “Carrots, I’m only going to say this once, and only because I need you to understand why I am _not_ going to see this _oracle_ you keep mentioning. I dared a skunk to shave his entire butt for five bucks, and I sold that rug for $800. I had no _clue_ she was _the_ Grandmama, I just thought she was some tough old lady with some money to burn, maybe an inheritance or stocks or...hell, I was young. Mr. Big told me if he ever saw me again, he’d kill me, and _not_ with the ice pit.”

A feeling welled up in her chest. She tried to keep it contained, to keep it off her face, but it was too much, and she erupted into giggles. She could picture it — young Nick Wilde, feeling invincible, charming a little old shrew into buying his garbage rug for exponentially more than it was worth, and then getting far more than what he was due. “You _actually — skunk butt —_ oh, _Frith help me,_ Nick, you…!”

With obvious wounded pride, he grumped, “Glad to know my near-death existence amuses you.”

Between fits of giggling, she managed to ask, “How did he _find out?”_

“Well…” He softened and grinned at her. “Okay, it would have been funny if it’d happened to someone else. See, the skunk in question found out how much I’d sold it for, after Grandmama had died, and he went to Mr. Big asking if he _wanted another.”_

Without thinking, she nudged him in the side with her elbow, like she might have done to a friend, and he reacted exactly like a friend would by squirming away from her and barking a short note of laughter. It surprised her, and it seemed to surprise him, too; they stared at each other awkwardly until, seemingly telepathically, they both decided it was better to look elsewhere. She cleared her throat and looked determinedly at a very interesting tree across the street. “All right, I can see why you wouldn’t want anything to do with Fru-Fru, but the oracle isn’t really part of the family. They protect her in exchange for information. I just need her to know I’m coming before I get there, because otherwise we’ll get hurt by her security system.”

“I know someone like that,” he mused with a nod that she only saw peripherally. “She used to be an infectious diseases specialist, but there was some crazy bioterrorism threat that she accidentally caught and stopped three years ago, and whatever she saw made her quit. These days she’s holed up in a bunker disseminating conspiracy theories.”

“Madge Honey,” Judy said. “I’ve never met her, but I’m glad you’re already acquainted. Maybe we _don’t_ need to wait for Fru-Fru to warn her, if she’d recognize you through her cameras.”

“She hates me too. I might have stolen a bunch of doilies from her,” he admitted.

After she’d picked her chin up off the ground, Judy asked him in disbelief, “Is there anyone in Zootopia you _haven’t_ ticked off?”

“In my defense,” he began, which was never, ever a good place to start, “it’s not always easy to tell from a glance which mammals are stupid enough to fall for something. In the confidence business, you either go for low-stakes crap with low returns, or you go for high-stakes stuff with high returns. The misses are as important as the hits, you just don’t advertise them. The stuff I do now is _basically_ legal anyway.”

“But that’s just outright theft,” she pointed out, ignoring his warped logic.

“Oh. Well.” He shrugged, and she felt comfortable enough to look at him again, but he wasn’t looking at her; he had his arms folded across his chest and he was staring at an Animalian flag next to the post office on the corner. “She has a lot of them. I just wanted to see how long I could get away with stealing them before she noticed. In case you’re wondering, it was _months.”_

“That makes it okay, then,” she said sarcastically. More seriously, she added, “I need you there, Nick.”

“Why? You’d be alone if you hadn’t agreed to help me.”

She elbowed him again, making him look at her with wide eyes. Taking care to look him in the eye to convey her seriousness, she said, “That’s right. They assign partners because more eyes on a problem means double coverage. I might miss something, or I might not ask the right questions. The whole point of _not_ doing cases alone is that everyone has a perspective. I have biases, you have biases, the other detectives have biases. It’s dumb to send only one mammal to investigate anything.”

“So, basically, you’re calling the Chief of Police dumb?” He smiled, a naughty, mischievous expression that looked perfectly natural on his face. “In that case, how can I refuse? I’ll just bring her some lokum. She loves it. You’ll have to buy it, though.”

“What? _Why,”_ she asked, appalled. She’d seen tins of it at the specialty market. It was _ridiculously_ overpriced; she’d have to shell out $60 or so. A decent cook could make it at home for less than a quarter of that price, but Judy was hardly a decent cook. And even if she had been, she didn’t have a way to do it.

“I’m, shall we say, _lacking in funds_ currently, due to this charity thing I’m doing instead of working — helping this cop investigate an impossible case. I’m sure you understand,” he replied, spreading his paws out with his elbows bent as though he were carrying serving trays.

She wanted to smack him. She wanted to say no. But Nick Wilde was stubborn when he wanted to be, and she knew she wouldn’t win this without an argument that would waste time and ruin the mood, so she resigned herself to eating the cost and said, “Fine. But in return, you have to help me organize all the notes into something coherent so that we know what questions to ask when we get there.”

Maybe it was childish, but his sudden disgruntled look gave her a little joy. Nick Wilde may have been stubborn, but he would learn — sooner rather than later, if he was as smart as he professed to be — that he really had nothing on Judy Hopps.

* * *

It was, perhaps, because Judy knew what kind of security system had been temporarily disabled, but the surprisingly normal-looking Nocturnal District bungalow belonging to Madge Honey, M.D., Ph.D., conspiracy nut and general pain in the collective tails of law enforcement, did not feel welcoming. The bright sunshine hit the suburb at exactly the right angle to make the doorknob gleam, but even the little birds were quiet. A crow squawked ominously. Judy hoped it wouldn’t make a dive for her. She didn’t want to have to gut-punch a _bird._

There was no answer when Judy knocked, but Nick braced himself, so she did too. Just a moment later, the ground seemed to _drop out_ from under them, and they were forced uncomfortably close on a slide that led to...somewhere down below. What _was_ this? Had they accidentally stepped into a cartoon world? Normal mammals didn’t make their own front door a trap! At a particularly sharp turn, Nick yipped and she squeaked and they held onto one another, lest they get thrown over the side. This was _ridiculous._ This couldn’t possibly be legal. This was a violation of at least three different housing codes, and also, _what._

“Sweet cheese and crackers,” she breathed, when they were dumped unceremoniously onto a carpeted square.

“Well, that’s one I’ve never heard before,” said a voice from beyond what Judy could see (having pitched forward upon landing). She raised her head to find…

...A very normal-looking living room, albeit _absolutely_ covered in doilies. Every flat surface was filled with them — lace ones, yarn ones, antique ones embroidered with initials that _weren’t_ MH, even paper ones — and even the furniture was covered with lace. Nick’s challenge to himself suddenly made a lot more sense.

“Honey, hey,” Nick said winningly, getting up and dusting off his knees. Judy scrambled to her feet as well.

“Don’t you _hey_ me, Wilde,” said the voice again. As Judy watched, the oracle came into view. Aside from the big scar across her left eye (and the enormous gold-embroidered black velvet housecoat she wore over a shapeless electric blue muumuu and honest-to-goodness _slippers),_ the badger looked exactly like her graduation photo. “You owe me 68 doilies and an apology.”

 _“68,”_ Judy hissed anxiously. “Nick!”

“I can’t believe you counted,” he said flatly, his paws balled on his hips. “Wait. _How_ did you count? I made sure never to take from the same place more than twice! You didn’t even notice for months!”

“These are to prevent fingerprints and catch loose fur, you idiot,” Madge exclaimed, and three swift steps later, she hit Nick on the snout with an old rolled-up issue of MagPi Magazine. Judy was torn between stepping in to stop the assault and letting them have it out, but thankfully, Madge only hit him twice and stepped back, arms folded, a sour expression on her face. “What if I’d been compromised after you stole those? I might have gotten caught scrubbing!”

“There is literally only one mammal in Zootopia who would live here, Honey, and it’s you,” he said flatly.

“Plenty of mammals-”

“No. _Plenty of mammals_ do not build their own bunkers with entire rooms filled with computers and God knows what else in the middle of the freaking Nocturnal District. What, would you set the computers on fire?”

“Now _there’s_ an idea,” she mused, rubbing her chin, and Nick looked stricken. She gave them both a concerned look. “Are you going to just stand there on my doorstep or come in? You’re freaking me out. Can I offer you something, Detective Hopps? Water? Tea? Bourbon? Come on, sit down on the couch.”

Judy moved hesitantly to the couch and hopped up onto it. An unpleasant crinkle told Judy that underneath the lace sheath, it was covered in plastic. Wow, this lady was _paranoid._ While she shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that wouldn’t make a lace knot dig into her legs or rear, Nick _almost_ sat down next to her, but Madge snipped, “No, Nick, not there.”

Nick frowned and moved over to an armchair, but the badger said, “Not there, either. _You_ can sit on the floor.”

“Oh, come on,” he complained. “They were doilies! Not even real lace ones!”

“And I haven’t heard the magic words come out of your mouth.” Was it bad that Judy was entertained by this? Nick was stuck in his tracks, looking irritated, and it was nice to see someone getting under _his_ fur for a change. “You owe me, Fox.”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered with a glare at the floor. Brightening, he said, “Oh, but I brought a gift for you. Carrots, show her.”

She rolled her eyes and dug the tin of lokum out of her messenger bag. She’d considered making him carry it on the way over, but it hadn’t been worth the inevitable argument. Madge’s eyes lit up and she took the tin in gentle paws. Judy could see how those same paws might hold a scalpel or...whatever tools infectious diseases doctors actually used. Reflex hammers? That would explain the magazine…

“Dammit, now I _have_ to forgive you,” Madge groused. “Just for this, you can sit on the couch.”

“I’m honored,” Nick said, clearly not feeling honored at all. He hefted himself up onto the couch next to Judy and sat, radiating grumpiness.

Judy would just have to make up for his gloom with important questions. Valiantly ignoring the strange cooing coming from Madge as the badger tossed one of the pieces of lokum into each of her six cages — containing, oh, _ugh,_ giant cockroaches, _why? —_ Judy said, “I don’t know how much Fru-Fru told you, but we’re here for information about a case I’m working.”

“I only know you’re looking for someone important. Good thing you came to me. I’ve got my finger on the pulse of the entire city. Someone goes missing, we might not know where they _are,_ but we’ll be able to find out what systems their absence affects. That narrows it down,” Madge said, suddenly all business. She popped a piece of lokum into her own mouth, shut the lid, and walked briskly across the room to a squat, ornate desk with an open laptop atop it. Why did everything Madge owned look like it had been bought from someone’s great-grandmother’s estate sale? After a short sequence of keystrokes, Madge hummed. “What’s our missing mammal’s name?”

“Katrina Castleberry,” Judy replied promptly, feeling Nick shift closer to her. He was probably uncomfortable. Once again without thinking, she patted his thigh to comfort him. It was his turn to go rigid. She pretended she hadn’t noticed, but she did withdraw her paw. “She’s a 34-year-old ocelot. An investigative journalist. The thing is, Dr. Honey-”

“Madge,” the badger corrected.

“Madge,” Judy acknowledged. “The thing is, we’re pretty sure we know who took her, and why. We’re open to alternate hypotheses, obviously, but too much lines up for it not to be a corporate cover-up, or something more sinister. We just need to find her, and to do that, we need information about Crookwood, Incorporated, and its subsidiaries. And cam footage, if you’ve found any. And-”

“Crookwood is rotten,” Madge said, echoing Tess Harfang from the day prior.

“That is the prevailing sentiment,” Judy assented carefully, “but why do you say that?”

Madge shrugged and typed some more. “It’s not hard to see, if you look deeper than the surface. Among others, Crookwood owns Woolfyre, Dogson & Bayard, and Beetroot Industries. Textiles, protein, and produce. Each of _those_ companies owns several chains, including BugBurga, Grazeling, and fucking _Horizon Mobile._ They’ve got their greasy little fingers in basically any industry you can think of, and plenty you aren’t aware of. I’ve been tracking them since I quit medicine. Which, funny enough, they _also_ have their fingers in, in the form of an overseas company, NIP-ro, which sells needles, syringes...nothing that would interest either of you, or even raise any eyebrows, until you hear that one of Crookwood’s little screen names bought NIP-ro and removed all stock options just a few months before they did a big charity pledge to open a new _private_ hospital. Care to guess where they get their needles and tubing?”

“NIP-ro,” Nick put in, as for some reason Madge had paused. Did she not think they were smart enough to pick up on the implication? Nick frowned and cut off Madge’s next words. “Is that even legal? I didn’t exactly study business, didn’t even graduate from high school, but I’m...fairly sure there’s a conflict of interest there, of the _stop-it-or-we’ll-make-you_ variety.”

“Not really,” Judy responded, grimacing. “A conflict of interest arises when it’s publicly traded. If NIP-ro were a company with stocks available to the public, then yes, there would be a possible conflict of interest, but in this case they’re just selling to themselves. It’s a technicality, and it’s borderline unethical because we have no idea what kind of deals they’re doing with themselves, and there’s real potential for money laundering should they be into less savory things, but it’s not illegal, and I doubt even an audit would find fault.”

 _“Exactly,”_ Madge said, pointing at them with a piece of lokum before putting _it_ into her mouth as well. Through the mucilaginous mouthful, she continued, “You should be better-versed in this kind of birdshit, Nicky. Legal hustles, that’s what Crookwood is all about. There’s stuff like this _everywhere._ And maybe more, but their shtick is hiring migrants, bunnies, and homeless mammals to do the kind of work someone else might ask questions about. Vulnerable populations just glad to have a job at all. Who’s gonna talk if they’re gonna get fired? And of course, Crookwood, or whichever of its faces is getting attention, looks charitable. It’s a win-win for them.”

“And who’s going to listen to a bunny even if one of them _does_ talk,” Judy asked quietly, trying not to sound bitter. She looked at the ugliest lamp she’d ever seen, some burnished monstrosity with a bright pink shade shaped like — well, she wasn’t sure, but it probably wasn’t the vulva shape she couldn’t unsee — because she didn’t want to see the smugness that was sure to be on Nick’s face. “Most of us hardly speak any Commons at all, and it takes a _lot_ of practice to train out the lisp. Everyone laughs at it.”

“And you’ve summed up their manual labor hiring practices,” Madge concluded.

“That’s what Kat told her boss she was investigating: unethical hiring practices.”

“But you wouldn’t be here if that were all,” Madge deduced, “because she would have gone in, asked some questions, left unsatisfied, gotten nothing out of the workers, and capitulated to the threatening note in her inbox. She found something she _really_ wasn’t supposed to find.”

 _“Amanita phalloides,”_ said Judy quietly. She glanced at Nick, who looked sick. “Hundreds of them, maybe thousands, and some suspected spore cultivation operations. She was researching old court cases and made lots of references to contemporary ones — these, we’ll need your help with, I don’t have access to a database, and I have them all on a list in my bag — and there are others who disappeared under suspicious circumstances.”

“Goddamn _sheep,”_ Madge snarled.

“I’m sorry?”

“Sheep run Crookwood,” Nick supplied. At Judy’s look of surprise, he feigned hurt and brought his paws up to his chest. “Hey, I’m capable of giving a crap when there’s poison involved. I’d like to stay alive, thanks. I researched it last night after I went home; the corporate schmuck of almost every other subsidiary is another species, but _every single mammal_ involved in the face of Crookwood, from the C.E.O. to the service agent, is a sheep.”

“And when you own the resources mammals need, you own the mammals, too.” Judy took a deep breath and reminded herself that this wasn’t the same. She hadn’t traded boring freedom for a fancy cage. “But I can’t figure out where the poison fits in.”

“That could be _anywhere,”_ Nick pointed out.

Madge nodded. “He’s right. Imagine the chaos that tainted medical supplies would cause. Or tainted food. Or, hell, tainted _water.”_

“But that decreases their buying base, doesn’t it?”

“Not necessarily. Not if it’s _targeted._ Shit, you’ve brought the sheep to my door. It’s happening again!”

And with that, Madge slammed the laptop closed so hard Judy worried about it breaking. Madge took a moment to breathe, and Judy and Nick let her. After a few beats of quiet, Judy asked, “What’s happening again, Madge?”

“The worst thing I ever did — the thing I regret most — is signing an NDA for those bastards,” Madge confessed. “I worked for St. Raphael for two years. Caught them doing experiments on anyone who didn’t have insurance. They’d couch it in birdshit medical terminology, rely on the poor patient not being educated in medicine, but it wasn’t a consent to treat form, it was a consent form for...other things. A few patients died, and these were all mammals who didn’t have families or anyone who would ask questions. Patients sometimes die on the table or in the room; doctors aren’t magic, they just do the best they can with the technology they have to save as many mammals as they can. Not these ones, though. They were testing _diseases._ I don’t know what it was for, but it was…” Her voice wavered and her eyes gleamed, signs of incoming tears. “My dad was sick. I signed the NDA in exchange for an out-of-court settlement; I had no idea what they were capable of! I couldn’t even treat my own dad, it was out of my field of expertise, so I just had to _trust..._ after he died, I violated the agreement and moved down here. A bunch of sheep got arrested, including Assistant Mayor Bellwether’s brother-in-law. It never went to trial. They _all died.”_

“Why didn’t I hear about this,” Judy asked, feeling her stomach sink. “This is recent history! Why didn’t they teach it at the academy?”

Madge shrugged, took another deep breath, and opened her laptop again. “That’s a good question, Detective, but not for me. Why didn’t the ZPD do anything? Why didn’t they make sure their perps didn’t die in their cells? Why was  _a bunch of doctors randomly went rogue_ an acceptable explanation for it? Your boss is better equipped to deal with that one. I doubt you’ll like the answer. Any answer at all is bad. If it was negligence, you know what kind of institution you’re working for. If it was murder…”

Maybe she was just spooked, but she couldn’t think of another reason it could have happened, either. This was, of course, assuming Madge was telling the truth. There wasn’t a reason for her to lie, but Judy hadn’t really given her an incentive to be honest, either. Rivers’ voice sounded in her head again: _stop giving everyone the benefit of doubt. You’re a cop, not a therapist._

“Would you mind looking into the court cases I copied down for you,” she asked, shaking off her misgivings. The worst that could happen was a wild goose chase, and the alternative was wandering around aimlessly.

“Yeah, bring them here,” said Madge. Judy hopped off the couch and pulled them out of her bag. They would be a little small for the badger, but hopefully it wouldn’t be too bad. “You can show yourselves out. My back door is through the kitchen. Just walk up the stairs.”

Judy stole a pen off Madge’s desk, wrote her email address down on the top page, and gave the two-page list to Madge. As the badger turned back to her screen, she said, “Goodbye, Madge, and thank you. Come on, Nick, let’s go.”

“Yeah, sure, Carrots. Hey, Honey. No hard feelings, right?”

“Whatever. Just watch yourself.”

Judy led the way through the kitchen and hesitantly pulled open the back door. It did, indeed, lead to a flight of stairs that led them to a sealed exit some distance away from the bungalow. When Nick pushed the tunnel door back down, Judy could hardly even tell they had come out of it; covered in sod and dandelions, it just looked like another part of the ground.

“Okay, yeah, she’s...intense,” she commented, feeling an appreciation for Nick that she hadn’t expected. He may have been obnoxious and largely untrustworthy, but at least he wasn’t as weird as Madge Honey.

“Right? Over a couple of doilies,” Nick replied, either deliberately missing the point or just not as smart as she’d thought he was. With a grin, he leaned over to whisper in her ear as they left the property. “I win, though.”

“What do you win,” she asked warily. After looking around to make sure there were no cameras in front of them, he pulled his paw out of his pocket.

Clutched in his paw was a lace doily. Oh, she was going to kill that fox, if he didn’t get her killed first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intend to keep this story as lighthearted as I can, considering the premise, so don't worry about getting beaten with the angst stick. Uggggghhhhhh that is so boring.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you I'm prioritizing my lawyers AU. Last time I said updates would be infrequent, I published a 124,000 word story in 6 months, and only managed to publish (approximately) 85,000 words outside of Exhibit A. If I ever tell you I'm prioritizing something, take it to mean I want to prioritize it, but my brain will do whatever the hell it wants.
> 
> Does anyone else hate trying to find a good place for exposition? I wanted to introduce a character a few chapters down the line, but now she gets to serve as a sounding board for backstory before the actual role I want her to play. Oh, well.

Technically, Judy had the day off, so she and her downstairs neighbor, Félinia, were supposed to have breakfast and maybe go see a sight that Judy hadn’t seen yet. She considered begging off, but she decided not to; as important as this case was, the mammals who’d given her love and support these last few years were important, too. Not much could be done until Madge got back to her with the requested information, anyway, and Nick had refused to meet her until 11:30, so it was okay to take a little break.

The Grand Pangolin Arms housed large mammals on the first floor, as all old buildings did, so Judy went down three floors to visit her friend. Félinia, who usually made herself available to the kits in the building, had attached a strap to her door handle; this made it easy for even small mammals to walk in.

“Fay,” Judy called as she closed the door behind herself, “where do you want me?”

“Kitchen,” called the tigress from the bedroom. Judy wasn’t generally a jealous mammal, but she could admit a bit of envy when it came to the first-floor apartments. Due to the sparse housing guidelines that _were_ enforced in Happytown, the ratio of large-medium-small, which was more of a weight thing than a height thing, had to be 1:2:5, which meant that out of the 54 apartments in the 5-floor building, only 4 could be rented to large mammals (so long as they weren’t megafauna, who for the sake of safety could only live in single-floor buildings with tall ceilings). Félinia, or “Fay” to her friends, had a set of rooms rather than a single room like Judy. It still didn’t have its own bathroom or kitchen, but it did have enough space to place a Rayburn, a real refrigerator, and a refillable, mostly-self-sustainable sink that Fay had rigged immediately after moving in, about six months after Judy.

Fay was a writer, which functionally was a lot less glamorous than it sounded. To make enough money to live, she had to put aside her novels and short stories, and instead spent her days providing SEO content to various doctors, lawyers, dentists, carpet stores, “marital aid providers,” and more. She also kept a blog that detailed every step of her transition, but that was a side project financed by insomnia and a desire to connect. When she wasn’t writing, it was a good bet that she was cooking; aside from enjoying the actual act of working with food, she enjoyed mothering the whole building, especially the children. She fed them when their parents didn’t have the time or money or both, and since most of them were very small in comparison, it was hardly an expensive hobby.

Judy, sadly, was smaller than many of the children that regularly came to Fay’s kitchen. The difference was that Judy was an adult, and they both appreciated the opportunity to chat over good food with a good friend. She braced herself for a moment and then jumped up onto the second tiger-sized seat. It still had a booster on it, so she didn’t feel like she usually did in Chief Bogo’s office; even though Fay would still be looking down at her, it never felt like Fay was looking down on her.

While she waited for the tigress to come out of the bedroom, Judy took a moment to sniff the air. It smelled amazing; whatever Fay had made, it definitely had onions and basil, and it was at least a little bready. In a big family like the Hopps clan, mealtimes were mostly about function, not flavor; salads, soups, and sandwiches were popular, as they could be paw-made from a young age, and carrots were enough of a sweet treat for most bunnies. Fay, however, took pride in her cooking. In the past two and a half years, Judy had learned about different flavor combinations, that she liked spicy food, and how to choose something nutritious without sacrificing flavor. Long gone were the days when Judy would eat hay products for ten meals in a row. After all, despite what she had told Chief Bogo, bunnies didn’t, and _couldn’t,_ live on an ancient diet. They had evolved alongside all other mammals to be as omnivorous as the rest of them. Hay products were just cheap and easy, and even with her active lifestyle, she only needed bug protein or a little bit of fish once or twice per week.

Soon, Fay bustled in, wearing low-cut jeans and a nice flowy off-white blouse. Judy didn’t really know anything about fashion, but she did know quite a bit about her friend, so she gave her a bright smile and said, “You look great, Fay!”

“You like the shirt?” Fay twirled and the bottom billowed out. “It’s new.”

“It’s pretty,” Judy assured her. Fay had admitted that sometimes she felt misplaced — like maybe she wasn’t “girly” enough, because she didn’t wear dresses or style her fur — so Judy went out of her way to comment on the things she thought were pretty or nice-looking. Sometimes she didn’t get it right, mostly because farm bunnies thought overalls were the height of fashion: functional, protective without being heavy, and full of pockets. City folks were so strange, with their fancy pointless accessories and impractical clothing, but it felt nice to participate in something, even if secretly she found it a little silly.

Fay walked over to the oven and took out a covered dish. The smell got significantly stronger as the tigress carried it over to the table and said, “I can probably find it in your size, if you want. I made something with cheese this morning; I know you like it.”

“Oh, wow, thanks!” While Fay situated herself on her own seat, Judy accepted her comparatively tiny plate and set it on the booster between her legs, took a small bite of the thin crispy pancake-like dish, and hummed happily. “This is so good.”

Fay grinned, showing all of her teeth, and then took a bite from her own much larger portion. By now, Judy was no longer unnerved by the sight. Fay was a large predator; in ancient times, she wouldn’t have considered a rabbit worthwhile prey anyway, and aside from that, she was just an overall kind mammal. She had proven to be thoughtful and generous, probably a much better mammal than Judy. She was safe.

They ate in silence for a while, the sound of chewing somewhat gross but not off-putting. Judy enjoyed the firm-yet-melty texture of the cheese, the taste of herbs and onions, and the just-barely-sweet pancake or crepe or whatever it was that Fay had made. Judy made a mental note to pick up an extra-large bag of turkey jerky from the small-mammals grocer as thanks. She would need the energy of the meal soon; she was meeting up with Nick later, this time to try to corner a senior detective and get information. She was hoping to catch Erin Rivers, a wolf who had been nice when they had worked together, but Dave Grizzoli or James Wolfard would probably be reasonable alternatives, even though they were both vice instead of missing mammals.

She still hadn’t solved the Nick _problem._ She wasn’t sure she could, yet, because half the problem was stuck behind her teeth, refusing to be named. But she knew what she had to do going forward, which was to simply treat him like any other CI. Forget what he was, forget how he had treated her in the past, and trust him to—

What went after that? She couldn’t trust him beyond trusting that he would prioritize himself over the common good. That was good enough…

“Fay,” she said slowly, realizing that she had an opportunity. If there were anyone who would listen without judging Juy _or_ Nick, it was Fay. They weren’t as close as Judy and Fru-Fru were, but their talks tended to be more intimate; though they were vastly different, they had similar feelings toward society and social norms. Fay knew a little something about being marginalized, and still she managed to spread positivity where she could, which was what Judy aspired to as well. Speciesism against bunnies was mostly passive, more condescension and casual demammalization than outward violence; in contrast, transphobia was full of vitriol and disgust and real physical danger. It was nice to be friends with someone who understood both where Judy was coming from and where she wanted to go. She hoped she provided the same feeling for Fay. “Do you mind if I bounce something off you?”

“Go ahead,” the tigress said with a flick of her ear and a sideways glance at Judy.

“I’m working with someone new — a fox. I’m trying, I _am,_ and sometimes I really like him. But there are other times when I’m...I get scared. Here in the city, there’s some kind of taboo on fear. They say it’s speciesist. That’s not who I want to be, but I don’t know how to get over it, and, ah. I value your opinion, especially on things like this.”

Fay watched Judy for a moment, her stare intense. By now, Judy was used to it; apparently, it was a tiger thing. Quinn Fangmeyer in zoicide did the same thing. The act was no longer uncomfortable, but she wasn’t sure it would ever stop feeling like Fay was trying to see into her soul or something. After a few moments of this, Fay asked, “Why do you want to get over it?”

“I mean…” Judy gestured between them, and then around at Fay’s kitchen, uncertain of how to respond. Wasn’t it obvious? “He’s a predator. I know wolves and lions do pretty well in the court of public opinion, but it’s speciesist to distrust predators, isn’t it?”

“Sure, if you’re a sheep, who have been on top of the social hierarchy since the Agreements, or any prey-class megafauna, and you only distrust them _because_ they’re predators. There are plenty of speciesist jerks out there, I’ll give you that. I’m sure some would say you’re right, because it’s easier to just say you’re speciesist than to address our recent history. I don’t actually have the full story of what was going on 20 years ago; it’s not like we were taught about bunnies in school. Until you came to live here, I’d ever even seen a bunny in person. You were just...part of society one day, and nobody made a big deal about it, not even the local news. Just the fringe groups complaining about...I don’t know, I was young. But I know _enough._ And I know you. Judy Hopps doesn’t get spooked by shadows. You have a history with foxes.”

“It was so long ago, though. 17 years,” she argued quietly. Something that had happened 17 years prior shouldn’t have had such a hold on her, right? No, it was something else, something in her brain making her _think_ Nick was more dangerous than he was. Sure, he lied to her face, and he was kind of a jerk, but he wasn’t violent — he wasn’t dangerous to her — or, well, he hadn’t done anything violent, so it was wrong to—

The logic broke down there. Where was the line between acceptable caution and unreasonable, speciesist caution? She _didn’t want to be that mammal._ She was better than that. And sure, when she had first come to Zootopia she had been just as afraid of prey, afraid that they might gain her trust and then trap her in a cage, but she had learned that didn’t happen here anymore, or at least, it happened so infrequently that statistically it wasn’t a worry.

(It wasn’t a worry _for her,_ because she had friends and a makeshift family who would miss her and go looking. After learning about Crookwood, though, she was revisiting that worry for bunnies who were much less fortunate than she.)

“You were a child then. 17 years ago _I_ was five. You would have been, what, nine?”

“Ten.”

“Still a child. At that age, stuff sticks with you. Trust me, I know,” Fay said gently, and Judy believed her. From what Judy had managed to piece together without asking a bunch of rude, invasive questions, Fay had met Pronk in a “conversion therapy” group, and they had been friends since their early teens. “Have you ever talked about it?”

Judy shrugged and looked at her empty plate. It was easier not to look at her friend. “Is there anything to talk about? He’s all the way back in Bani — Bunnyburrow. My life is here.”

She wouldn’t think about the reason he was back in town to begin with.

“He who?”

“...Gideon,” Judy said, embarrassed at her whisper and the way her shoulders went up to her cheeks. Louder, with deliberate crispness and better posture, she added, “Gideon Grey. My old best friend.”

“Do you want to tell me about him?”

She thought about it. What could it hurt, really? At worst, she’d feel really bad, or she’d feel really dumb. Of course, that was unpleasant, but so was seeing someone else whenever Nick accidentally loomed over her or deliberately said something awful. On the other paw, maybe it would help. Was her pride really worth an unpleasant partnership? Was it really worth being nervous around someone she kind of liked?

No. Nothing was more important than the case. If this helped, it could help the next week and a half go more smoothly. If it didn’t, what had she _really_ lost? Only a few minutes, which she would have spent in Fay’s kitchen anyway. Maybe it was time to talk about herself, after months of listening to Fay and not really reciprocating that show of trust. She took a deep, steadying breath and began, “He was my best friend for five years, as much as a fox and bunny _could_ be best friends back then. He used to say he’d buy me from Mr. Woolston and we’d run off somewhere across the ocean together where nobody could make fun of us for being friends. I thought it was sweet.”

Fay did not look nearly as charmed as Judy had felt as a kit. “You thought someone wanting to _buy_ you was sweet?”

“It’s not like either of us knew any better; it was just the way things were back then,” Judy told her, waving her paws back and forth. “It sounds bad, but I mean, technically I _did_ belong to Mr. Woolston until Reclassification-”

“That’s horrible!”

She shrugged that off, refusing the term offpaw. Horrible was relative, wasn’t it? “He let us all be, let my parents keep their profits and everything, even opened a line of credit with my dad as an authorized user, but he didn’t have to. He could have taken everything. He could have forced us — I’m not saying it was okay, or that it was _ever_ okay for bunnies to be property, I’m just trying to paint a picture here. Sharla Woolston, his daughter, taught me how to read before I was allowed to go to school, and we played rockstar with this neighbor of ours, Bobby Catmull. Back home, there was a rule: if you owned bunnies you had to treat them right or you’d get forced out of town by the Woolstons or the Pines family, who didn’t even have any bunnies at all.”

And kits, who could be smart, didn’t really know any better. At five, six, seven...Sharla had just been Sharla, Gideon had just been Gideon, Bobby had just been Bobby, and Judy had just been Judy. That hadn’t been normal for the time, and she knew she was lucky. It could have been so much worse. She could have been trained and sold to a blind mammal who needed a bunny guide, or trained to be extra affectionate for someone who needed emotional support, or even put to work in someone else’s house, on someone else’s farm, in someone else’s world. Just a pet, a dumb animal to be used as needed. Instead, she had spent years learning to fix her _family’s_ tractors and vehicles. She had spent her days eating her _family’s_ crops and sleeping in her _family’s_ house. It had taken her a long time to admit — and still, it felt strange to acknowledge it — that no matter what the letter of the law said, bunnies were still a second-class species. Lower. Unequal in society. There was a _reason_ for special protection laws, and it wasn’t mammals like the Woolstons, who had celebrated along with everyone else after Reclass. Mr. Woolston had only owned the Hopps clan to protect them from being collected by far less scrupulous mammals.

It made her feel slimy to think that had been necessary in the first place. She had never resented Sharla’s dad for doing the right thing, but it _shouldn’t have been needed._ She still didn’t understand why her species had been deprived of personhood for so long. Hadn’t they proven themselves to be just as sentient, just as sapient, just as mammalian?

That wasn’t really relevant, though, at least not to the conversation. She ignored her own irritation and Fay’s disgruntled expression. “Ban- _nyburrow_ was full of bunnies who had a _lot_ of freedom relative to bunnies elsewhere. Gideon was five when he first said that; he didn’t understand what it meant to purchase a mammal, he just knew that if he did, we’d get to be friends forever and go wherever we pleased. That was important. His mom was a — I don't know a word in Commons that is rude enough to do her justice, but she was the kind of mammal who would tell everyone what a clumsy and stupid child she had so she could hurt him for sympathy, and I guess he liked me because I'd never be big enough to do that. Maybe he really did consider me his best friend too. I don't know. He was kind of mean to everybody except the ones he liked, and I bet we wouldn’t have gotten along if he hadn’t liked me. But I liked him a lot, and whenever we could, we'd play Nancy Shrew together and gather all the gossip.”

“That poor cub,” Fay said quietly. She had always liked children in a way that Judy didn’t really understand, but appreciated nonetheless. More mammals could stand to be protective of their most vulnerable population. “I gather it didn’t last?”

“His dad was sick,” Judy said reflexively, and then shook her head. “No, I keep saying that, but it’s wrong. He shouldn’t get to claim mental illness. His dad was a redtooth. We didn’t know it was him, but we did know that young bunnies were going missing, one every few months from a different family...and that happened sometimes, back then, even where I lived. I guess certain mammals thought that there were so many of us, we wouldn’t notice or care if a few went missing. We’d just make more, because we were just _so good_ at multiplying. It wasn’t murder, it was theft and destruction of property, so even if a thief did get caught, he’d...anyway, the Greys were a transplant family from Meadowbrook; Ethan probably didn’t know that we had the community on our side, more or less, when he first moved in.”

Fay shook her head, eyes wide, and put her paws to her mouth, probably already on the same page. It wasn’t hard to guess.

“Gideon’s the one who discovered it,” Judy continued, “when we were nine, two years after Reclass. It was just another spying game, following his dad without getting caught. He saw Ethan slaughtering one of my sisters. He thought it was me.”

“No,” Fay whispered through her fingers.

“It must have taken so much courage to tell on his own father.” Judy took a deep breath and let it out. She had never actually said any of this next part out loud, partly because she hadn’t wanted to waste time thinking about a past she could never change, and partly because it _hurt_ to miss Gideon Grey. “I didn’t appreciate that at the time. How could I? I’d just lost my sister to this monster, and it's not like I was close to her, but that's the kind of thing that settles inside you. During the trial, he said things...I don’t know how true they were. I don’t know if he was feeding my kind to his own son, or if he knew he was caught and just wanted to cause a scene. That’s what I want to think. It’s a kinder thought. And Ethan probably wouldn’t have wanted to share, even with his own family.

“Gideon couldn't even look at me for almost eight months, until the trial was over, but then when we tried to play again he got so angry; maybe not at me, but that’s how it fell. We had a big fight. I said redteeth deserve to be eaten in prison, which I _know_ was wrong of me but I was hurt and I just wanted Ethan to suffer the pain he'd caused the bunnies he killed. And Gideon...maybe he just wanted me to see that he wasn’t his dad, but it just sounded like he was defending him. He said that eating bunnies is in every fox’s DNA, and his dad was stupid and weak, but _he_ knew better than to eat something that could speak up for itself. So I slapped him right in the face and told him I never wanted to see him again, and he and his mom were forced out of town soon after.”

“You slapped him? _You?”_

“So hard he bled,” Judy confirmed, finding that this wasn’t as hard as she had thought it would be, so long as she could remain outside of it, like she was telling someone else’s story. It didn’t belong to her anyway. She was a different bunny now. She just couldn’t look directly at Fay for very long, and she was fine. “I promised myself I would never act like that again. As an adult I get where all the individual pieces came from, and I feel so bad for him; his mom hurt him for attention, his dad was a murderer, and in the space of a year his whole life was ruined by mammals that _should_ have loved him and taken care of him. I just...even though it's wrong of me to have a grudge against a child who didn't know better, without knowing what he _meant,_ I don’t know if I can forgive that.”

“Because either he was saying he wouldn’t eat a sentient being, which wouldn’t actually bring back your sister, or he was saying your sister should have spoken up for herself,” Fay concluded with real pain in her voice. It was still a little weird for a Zootopian to empathize with bunnies, but even though Judy didn’t want to cause anyone pain, it felt nice, too. “Judy, I’m so sorry. This explains so much about why nobody would talk about why bunnies were so “slow” to officially integrate as a species...that shouldn’t happen to _anyone._ I’m not surprised you’re having a hard time with this new fox. I would.”

“Nick reminds me a little of Ethan, you know,” Judy said at a rush, without her own brain’s permission. She was supposed to be done, she was supposed to just thank Fay for listening and move on. But her mouth had different ideas; she had started telling a story whose full details she had never even disclosed to her parents, and now she couldn’t stop, even though she was ashamed to say it — ashamed to _think_ it. “They don’t look very much alike, but Ethan had that same ability to be awful in private and charming in front of mammals who actually mattered to him. Before they knew what he was, most of the town liked him well enough, and I think there were some anti-fox sensibilities there, but I couldn’t have picked up on it at the time, especially when he made so many town kits smile. He had a nice, handsome face and he told the best jokes. Some folks felt sorry for him, having to stay married to someone like Marian Grey for the sake of their kit. But when he was alone with bunnies...suddenly he was different. He had no respect for us. He’d step on you if you were in his way, and he didn’t even notice. He was really mad when Mr. Woolston refused to sell any of us to him before Reclass. We really were just things to him — not just property, but property that _he couldn’t have,_ and it was scary. The way Nick treats me...it doesn’t look the same on the surface, but I’m not great at telling the difference between looking down on me because I’m not a mammal he likes, or looking down on me because I’m not a mammal at all. But he calls me a stuffed animal, so I have to assume that’s what he’s thinking. I’m just a thing. He lies too much to be able to trust his answer if I ask.”

Fay frowned angrily, but Judy knew by now that the tigress wasn’t angry at her. She was angry _for_ her. Everyone at the Grand Pangolin Arms protected each other, even if they couldn’t stand each other, and she and Fay were friends. “He lies to you? And tells you about it?”

“He doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s not like he makes it a secret.” Judy looked away again, because wasn’t she just being silly? What would Fay say to her final thoughts about Nick? “That’s the real reason I worry, I think. You only lie to someone you think is worth something, right? You only hide your true self from someone you think is a mammal. You don’t hide yourself from a stuffed toy. So either I’m just a thing to him, or he’s trying to make me trust him so he can hurt me later, or I’m overthinking everything and he just doesn’t like me for other reasons, and it’s that what-if, _always_ that what-if. I don’t know what he’s thinking. I want to trust him, Fay. I want everything to work out. I want us to be friends, especially if we end up working together again as a cop and her CI. He’s just so dang wishy-washy. When he’s not being fun and helpful, he’s kind of mean.”

“You shouldn’t trust anyone who is determined not to be trustworthy,” Fay said flatly, but she smiled at Judy anyway. “But you can trust _me_ on this: if he hurts you, he’ll probably go missing after you drop-kick him out of a window.”

“Fay! Don’t joke like that,” Judy said through a tiny laugh. The joke made her feel better, though, because it put things into perspective. In the end, Nick was one mammal, and she was allowed to defend herself, even if she wanted to avoid the situation entirely. She was trained, she was usually armed with a taser, and she had friends who would stand by her should things go south. In fact, if Nick _did_ prove to be completely untrustworthy, she could cut him loose; she didn’t have to follow through on her end of the deal if he broke it first.

Yeah. She would be fine.

“Nobody should joke about getting revenge,” Fay agreed with a leer, and Judy chose to leave it at that. Nick wouldn’t hurt her anyway. Everything would be fine.

* * *

Lucky’s Diner and Bakery was a small place that dealt mostly in takeout, and it was Judy’s go-to when she was in a hurry. They knew her there; they knew her two most common orders, they didn’t hassle her, and they didn’t let any customer hassle any other customer. It wasn’t necessarily the cleanest lobby, but Judy had seen their gleaming kitchen; it wasn’t their fault it was so close to the lumber mill, whose biggest export was actually dusty workers looking for quick, affordable food.

It was unusually crowded today. Well, it was probably exactly as crowded as it usually was during lunch hour; Judy just tended to come in at 2 in the afternoon instead of 11:30. As a peace offering, she had purchased a large coffee for Nick, hoping that it would at least begin bridging the gap between them, but that meant waiting a few extra minutes for her order; he would probably be waiting outside by the time she got her food, pacing back and forth, pretending to be annoyed with her tardiness even though he had cited “sleeping in” as his reason for not wanting to get started early.

Tucked between an ocelot’s restless tail and a pretty Arctic vixen, Judy felt short and out of place in the dim light, but that was hardly new, so she waited patiently for her number to be called, her receipt held loosely in her fist. It wasn’t until her phone buzzed in her pocket that anyone really took notice of her; in her quest to dig her phone out, she dropped her receipt on the floor, which she then bent to pick up. On her way back up, she accidentally knocked the vixen with her hip.

“Watch it, little snack,” she jeered, because of course she did. Ugh, _this_ again, and on the day she had decided to try harder with Nick, too. She wasn’t sure why they did it, but some mammals thought it was hilarious to call her names like “snack” and “nibble,” and she could pretend to be in on the joke or ignore it when they said it from a distance, but up close like this, it made her nervous. Not _tharn_ or anything, especially since they were in a crowded place. Nobody was going to hurt her.

Fortunately, she had plenty of practice diffusing situations like this, so — making sure to keep her tone neutral and nonconfrontational — she said, “Please, Ma’am, I just want to get my order and go.”

 _Please don’t make a scene,_ she begged internally. She didn’t have a taser with her, as it was still charging in the apartment, which meant that if the vixen started something, Judy might have to engage violently. The vixen would lose in a fight; after all, Judy had taken down mammals several times her size, and she could see just from the vixen’s build and stance that she wasn’t used to being physical. But as a detective, she held herself to a higher standard than she might hold another bunny. She had training and reflexes that regular mammals didn’t usually have. If it came down to a physical altercation, she would have to make a decision about the appropriate amount of force required. She didn’t want to get it wrong. Just as she didn’t want to have to hurt Nick, she didn’t want to hurt this vixen, and she didn’t want to get banned from her favorite take-out joint for fighting another customer (and the inevitable damage that would come from a physical confrontation in such close quarters).

She just wanted to go about her business, honestly, why was this funny?

“Cricket special isn’t your order. What, did you graduate from lap warmer to errand girl?”

 _Don’t react, don’t say anything smart-alecky._ Nothing the vixen was saying was particularly original. She’d heard more creative insults from grade-school bunnies back home, albeit less targeted. “Please just let me wait quietly. I don’t want any trouble.”

The vixen leaned in closer. Judy leaned away instinctively, her heart beginning to pound at the sudden closeness with teeth designed to puncture her neck and spinal cord, and the vixen snickered. “You don’t want _trouble?_ What _do_ you want, coming into a pred restaurant, ordering pred food, smelling like you do?”

“Madam, this is an equal-opportunity establishment,” admonished someone from beyond the vixen. Nick. _Thank Frith,_ someone who was required to be on her side. As he came into view to wedge himself between Judy and the twitchy ocelot, he added, “Judy, how nice to run into you early.”

“Yes, it’s great to see you, Nick,” she agreed, feeling her pulse slow down when he casually slung his arm around her shoulders. That was a good sign, right? Usually Nick made her nervous, but this time, having him there was a comfort. At least for the time being, he had her back. Maybe it was because his safety depended on her good will, but she’d take it, and hopefully they could come to a better understanding for the future.

He took a long, exaggerated sniff and gave the vixen an unimpressed look through the space between Judy’s ears. _“Detective Hopps_ here smells like buck-25 shampoo and — what is that, onion pancakes? Gross.”

“I don’t know what it was? My neighbor made it. Crispy crepes or something with cheese and herbs and, yes, onions,” Judy returned, shrugging off his arm and completely turning her back to the vixen as if to tell her she was no threat at all. In public, with Nick there acting like an old friend, she really wasn’t a threat. “Fay did say they’re a pretty good _snack.”_

“Order 23,” called the lynx, Linnea, at the register, and the rest of Judy’s tension disappeared. She could get out of there. She quickly walked to the counter with Nick following closely. Thank goodness for that, too; his relative bulk was a fairly effective shield. She doubted his motives were altruistic (though she did entertain the stray fantasy for a second), but she didn’t care about that. Linnea’s bored smile brightened when she saw Judy hop up onto the stepstool. “Hey, Judy! You’re here early!”

“Lots to do today,” Judy replied with an equally bright smile, taking the bag and to-go cup and giving over her debit card. They weren’t exactly friends, but they were friendly enough after seeing each other three times per week for a year and a half. While Linnea ran her card, Judy gave Nick the waxy cardboard cup. “Here, Nick, I got this for you. I didn’t know what you take in your coffee, so it’s just black, but there’s a coffee bar by the door.”

“...Thanks, Car — Hopps,” he said quietly. Judy could hear it over the din, but she wasn’t sure he’d meant it to be heard.

Just in case, she said, “Excuse me?”

“I said you’re a strange cop,” he replied in a more teasing tone. “Meet me by the door, then. Coffee isn’t coffee until it has cream and sugar.”

Linnea gave her back her card and gave her a dubious look. “I didn’t know the cops worked with foxes.”

“This one does,” Judy responded firmly. “Foxes are mammals, just like the rest of us.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course, I just...ah. Never mind, you’re smart. If you say he’s good, then he is.” Linnea smiled guiltily. “You have a good day. Make the world a better place, and all that.”

“Thank you for the food. You have a nice day as well.”

She turned away to see Nick, once again in a gaudy floral shirt, pouring a frankly ridiculous amount of sugar into his cup. She wanted to tease him for it, but she decided to indulge in something that _wouldn't_ sour her chances at reconciliation with him. She pulled out her cricket burger, unwrapped the edge of it, and took a big, vicious bite, looking that Arctic vixen in the eye. Then she turned her back again and asked brightly, “Ready to go, Nick?”

“Sure,” he said, and then as they were walking out he said into her ear, “I didn’t know you had it in you, Carrots. She’ll think twice before messing with you again, I bet.”

She shrugged and offered him the bag. The walk to the train station from Lucky’s would take about five minutes, but the sun was bright and the square was cheerful; it felt like the perfect day to make friends. “I got one for you, too. We might as well eat while we’re on our way to interview Kat’s brother, right?”

“A cricket burger? Pass.” He snorted. “I don’t know what universe you live in, but here on Earth-1, foxes are vegetarians.”

“More for me, then,” she answered easily, although she was confused at his answer. Foxes were vegetarians? That was certainly news to her. And to every fox who’d visited the illegal meat farm where her parents and eldest siblings had been born. Maybe it was a Zootopia thing? No, she’d seen other foxes tearing into chicken sandwiches or fish and chips. Maybe he was messing with her, or maybe he just only knew vegetarian foxes. She decided to believe that second one. It was a kinder thought, and she wanted to be kinder to him. “I haven’t heard back from Madge yet, but I found Kat’s brother at some commune in the Rainforest District, so I figured we could meet him first before we try to corner Rivers. If she’s in a good mood, she might let us use her credentials to get on the server for a little while.”

“They still haven’t fixed the error yet,” he asked, but she thought he was probably being obtuse on purpose. He had as good as told her he knew the situation with Bogo.

“I just have to get my status changed. It’s temporary.”

“And what was that in there?” She looked over at him. He seemed...genuinely distressed, for reasons she couldn’t begin to guess. He was frowning, gripping the cup a little harder than he should, his ears were wide and flat, and his tail was swishing to and fro. “With that vixen? Did you arrest her or something?”

“Sometimes that kind of stuff just happens,” she said through her most recent mouthful. She swallowed her bite and continued, “Sorry, that was gross. Whatever they say, it’s just a joke. It’s not funny to me, but — I can be a good sport! Usually I just laugh it off. She was just messing with me, it was no real problem.”

“She called you a snack,” he pressed.

She winced. “You heard that?”

“The whole lobby heard it. She wasn’t exactly whispering.” He pulled on his tie and she looked down at the ground, strangely embarrassed. Why was he still talking about it? Did he want to humiliate her, or was he actually upset about it? “You didn’t even do anything to her. Why would you let her talk to you like that?”

...How could he even _ask_ that question? He had said much worse to her. At least calling her a snack was a jab at her recent change in status. He’d just outright called her an object and prodded at the bruises everyone knew would be there. But it wouldn’t do any good to bring that up to him. If he was willing to extend a paw, that was another step in the right direction. “As opposed to making a scene? I might have three years ago. I had a real chip on my shoulder then. I thought everyone should acknowledge me as just as good as-” She caught herself before she said _a real mammal._ Because she was one, and nobody would ever be able to convince her otherwise. “-anyone else. But there’s a time and place for arguing, and a crowded takeout restaurant isn’t it.”

“Just seems creepy,” he said finally, after they had walked together for a little while. Judy was chewing on another bite, so she didn’t have time to respond before he continued, “You know that’s not... _true,_ right? She was just threatening you with — you’ve heard the stories, I’m sure. But no real fox would…”

Real foxes _had._ But what good would it do to argue that when she was trying to be his friend? He was young enough that _maybe_ the old stories would just be stories. Baniburrah news wouldn’t have reached Zootopia when Ethan Grey had been prosecuted, and even if it had, he would have been 15 or so. If she was right and he was nonviolent, if he was telling the truth about being a vegetarian, it wasn’t real to him. And maybe he knew less than she’d originally thought; apparently, even the details of Reclass weren’t common knowledge amongst younger mammals like Fay.

With forced cheer, she lied, “She was just grumpy, probably, and I was the one who bumped into her, so it was really my fault anyway. Plus, we had to wait for a long time and it smelled really good in there. I was getting restless too. Do you want to stop somewhere else? Maybe get a pastry or a sandwich or something else to put in your stomach?”

“I can’t eat anything,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’m feeling a little sick at the moment.”

He did look nauseated. His claws dug further into the soft cup, and she decided to keep an eye on him. If he was _too_ sick, she’d send him home; deal or no deal, it wasn’t good for a sick mammal to do anything stressful, and she couldn’t afford that kind of setback.

* * *

Ben Castleberry hadn’t been seen in a week, which was another worrying mystery in a long line of them. Whether he had been taken like the others or he’d simply left the commune was anyone’s guess; Judy had left her contact information at the Forest Temple, but she doubted anyone would call, even if he _did_ return. She would keep checking, but in the meantime, he was a dead lead. She could only hope that he wasn’t a dead lead because he was physically dead.

Nick, thankfully, didn’t seem sick anymore now that he had finished his coffee. His questions for the commune had been surprisingly pointed (and on point as well); he had known how to talk to them, how to relate to them, even though he wasn’t one of them. He had a talent for seeing the important stuff and saying the right things, which would come in handy if they kept working together beyond the two weeks he owed her. She hoped she got far enough in the case with his help that she’d be able to, if not utilize his talents again, then at least pick up a little bit.

Their next destination was the Tundratown station, where Rivers was collaborating on a missing mammals case with a detective from Precinct 6. Technically, Judy’s and Rivers’ cases had overlap, because all of the recent missing mammals cases were being lumped together until they could figure out which ones were linked and which ones weren’t, but there was no guarantee the Chief would see it that way, so Judy was hoping to simply go around him. There were no rules against sharing information with a fellow detective, after all.

“I love Tundratown,” she gushed as they rounded the corner. It was a funny little place, always snowy and cold, and full of things like toboggan hills, skating rinks, and snow-pouncing games. The station was situated next to a snow-fort playground and across from the Fish Market, a nice sit-down restaurant, not to be confused with the fish market, which was near the docks and sold freshly-caught fish. She’d never been inside it, but Fru-Fru’s husband swore by it, so maybe one day she’d scrounge up the money and go.

“I hate it,” Nick grumped. He may not have looked sick anymore, but he also didn’t look particularly happy. She knew he didn’t like cops, and here she was, leading him into a building full of them. He had his paws balled in his pockets and his tail was visibly agitated again, swishing in the snow behind him. “This is Big territory.”

Oh. Right. Of course this wouldn’t be comfortable for him. He would probably be safe enough as long as he was with her, but just in case, she made a note to watch out for any of Mr. Big’s mammals. They all had a look — maybe it was the way they dressed or the way they moved, she wasn’t sure, but it was distinctive. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.”

“You’re darn right, you’ll keep me safe. I’m your _partner,”_ he said, exaggerating the last word.

“Well, come on, then, Junior Detective, let’s go into the wolf den.” She smiled brightly and tugged on his tie, motivating him to stumble after her in surprise. It was a little funny to see Nick Wilde stumble over anything, since he made a living being smooth, but she didn’t laugh at him. They’d been getting on really well; he hadn’t even called her a stuffed animal or anything like that _once_ in the (nearly) three hours they’d been together. Maybe he really had been upset by what that vixen had said, or maybe he was just finally taking the case seriously now that he knew how deep it could go. _This_ was the Nick she liked best: still sardonic, but not insultingly so, and insightful to boot. When they reached the front desk, she cleared her throat and turned her attention to the desk officer. “Excuse me? I’m here to see Detective Erin Rivers.”

The elk leaned over the desk and frowned, one eyebrow raised. “Sorry, Sweetie, citizen arrests aren’t a real thing. Let the cops take care of him and I’ll take your statement.”

“Hm, _no,”_ she retorted, annoyance creeping up on her quickly. A quick glance at Nick showed that he wasn’t even doing anything weird; this was old-fashioned prejudice, not justified suspicion. While her foot tapped uncontrollably, she held out her badge. “I know we haven’t met, but I’m _Detective_ Judy Hopps, and this is my partner. Rivers and I work together at Precinct 1.”

“Oh. I, uh.” Judy was reminded strongly of Linnea from Lucky’s. She was far less willing to forgive speciesism from an officer of the law. While it was possible that Linnea had personal experience with the walking sarcasm factory that was Nick “I Know Everyone” Wilde, this elk clearly didn’t know him, so had no reason to think he was up to anything. It wasn’t like she’d pawcuffed him, either. He was obviously there of his own free will. She’d be making a statement, all right. “Rivers is in with Hoofington in the cubicles. I’ll just...let them know you’re coming.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” she said insincerely. Turning to Nick, she said, “Come on, Wilde, I’ll introduce you to your new teammate.”

Nick wasn’t a detective, but he wasn’t stupid, either. He gave her a big toothy smile and said, “Well, gosh, Hopps, I sure am glad to have you to show me around.”

She didn’t lead him. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him not to wander off and do something obnoxious to embarrass her in front of the new officers — well, not _entirely —_ but she didn’t trust that a beat cop wouldn’t decide he was a threat to her and try to get him while she wasn’t looking. So they walked side by side, Nick looking around idly while Judy explained that every station looked more or less the same, although most were more compact than her station in the city center. The cubicles were generally on the first floor out of convenience and to give easy access to megafauna, who didn’t always do well on stairs that were accessible to _smaller_ mammals.

“Hey, Hopps,” called Rivers, popping her head around the corner of a cubicle. Judy waved and sped up. “Welker called ahead.”

“I’m surprised,” Nick commented.

“And who are you?”

“This is Nick Wilde. He’s helping me with a case,” Judy explained, hoping to stave off any of Nick’s lingering argumentative side. “Nick, this is Detective Erin Rivers.”

“It is very nice to meet you, Detective,” Nick enthused, sticking out a comparatively tiny paw for Rivers to bemusedly shake. _“Judahlia_ here has told me such great things about you.”

At least he wasn’t calling her Carrots.

Rivers pulled her paw away, looked between them, and shrugged. “At least he’s better than Duke Weselton.”

“Weaselton,” Judy corrected without thinking. Nick snickered — he probably knew Duke — and she felt silly, but that was all right. Maybe if they were both laughing at her, they wouldn’t think too hard about each other. “Anyway, Rivers, I know you’re busy, but I have a favor to ask.”

“Yeah, sure, anything.”

“Would you mind if I used your credentials to look up what, if anything, we know about Crookwood, Inco-”

“Except that.” Rivers’ interjection sounded firm, but her face was apologetic. “Sorry, Hopps, that’s a kill zone.”

Kill zone. A topic that was off-limits, usually pertaining to UC ops or cases that had been referred to higher bureaus. Kill zones were exceedingly rare for detectives; not only was it their _job_ to investigate things that normal mammals and beat cops weren’t authorize to poke their noses in, but detectives were often utilized by higher bureaus or loaned out to other precincts as needed. It was dangerous to not have access to information, confirmed or otherwise. “But...why is it a kill zone?”

“Case is closed. The ABI is _handling it,”_ Rivers sneered. Her fangs glistened and her index claw tapped on the desk. Judy knew her well enough to know she was annoyed. “As if the ABI could tell their tails from their elbows. Crookwood’s based here in Zootopia. Their warehouses are here. _We_ did the heavy lifting.”

This was more than the stereotypical bad blood. It made sense for anything involving Crookwood to be a federal case, maybe even INTERPOL, since Crookwood was a multinational corporation. But Rivers had cooperated with the ABI several times before, and they’d gotten along pretty well each time. She just wanted violent or dangerous criminals to be caught and tried for their crimes, no matter who put the cuffs on them. “Okay, it’s classified, but surely we’re allowed to take a look at the declassified stuff?”

“What declassified stuff?”

Nick tensed beside her. Peripherally, she could see his tail twitch again and his eyes narrow. Whether he knew what that meant or he had just picked up on Judy’s frustration, she wasn’t sure, but it was nice to have him in her corner. In a much smoother tone than one might expect from an agitated mammal, he said, “We know Crookwood’s corrupt from the ground up. And we know there are plenty of subsidiaries attached to them. All we want is public information.”

“Then get it off Zoogle. I’m not risking my shield for a dead lead. And it _is_ a dead lead, Hopps. Even if you were allowed to see the case files from three years ago, the _minute_ you went sniffing around their offices, you’d be escorted out, you’d lose your job, and once they discovered who let you in, I’d lose mine.”

“But some of the things they’ve done are criminal! Murder, and bribery, and-”

“Not here, Hopps.” Rivers looked around, sighed, and twitched her head toward the back. Raising her voice, she said, “Hey, Houndsley. Tell Hoofington I’m taking my lunch, and if he wanted anything he shouldn’t have taken his phone to the bathroom.”

“Can do,” said an amused male voice from a cubicle nearby.

“Come on, you two,” muttered the wolf, and led them swiftly through the cubicles. Most of them were empty; they usually were. Most officers only used the computers once per day, unless they were typing up a report. Nick and Judy followed her into a small office, whose door Rivers immediately shut and locked. The light shining through the lone window was hardly enough to make the place bright, but neither canid bothered to turn on the light that wasn’t within Judy’s reach. In the dark, then, just like her case.

“All this cloak and dagger stuff’s supposed to be TV drama, not real life,” Nick said, because of course he did. He wasn’t wrong, really. Detectives might confer in private, for the sake of expediency or to diminish noise, but anything they discussed would always be available on the server anyway.

“And I’m not supposed to be talking about this, but here we are. I’m doing you a favor, Hopps, so listen carefully. I’m not saying any of this again.”

“If this is really as dangerous as you say, then I can use my other resources-”

“Who will only have bits and pieces of the story, if they have any of it at all,” Rivers denied. “I know you. I know you’re going to chase this lead for whatever case the Chief has you working, and I know you’re going to ignore any warnings I give you because you care more about justice than you do about arbitrary lines in the sand. So I won’t bother warning you about the ABI, but I _am_ warning you about _me._ If anyone asks you where you heard this, it wasn’t from me, or you will find out _exactly_ why they called me Bloodclaw in the academy.”

(Considering that Judy’s nickname had been Deathlegs, she wasn’t inclined to think much of that, but she understood and respected where Rivers was coming from.)

“You don’t even have to tell me the details that I can find elsewhere,” she said quickly. “In fact, I’m not asking Detective Rivers right now, I’m talking to a voluntary informant whose name I never got. What _happened?”_

“You’re going to hate this answer,” Rivers replied. “You’d hate every answer. But especially this one. Added to the kill zone order...are you _absolutely_ _sure_ you want to know?”

“Rivers, I can’t just binky with my ears over my eyes,” she challenged, and immediately wanted to eat those words. She tensed in expectation of laughter, but none came. “I have a feeling the order to classify has something to do with St. Raphael. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

Judy nodded. This was so far above her head, and she entertained the idea of giving up. Kat Castleberry deserved more support than just Judy and some random fox who happened to have seen her on the day she went missing. But if she did try to pass the case to someone with more resources, she couldn’t guarantee that Bogo would assign the case to anyone else. He had fully expected it to go cold, or he wouldn’t have given it to her. Didn’t Judy owe it to Kat to try, at least? “I think my missing mammal was taken by someone working for Crookwood to keep her from talking about something she saw. She was investigating ethics, and poisonous toadstools, and maybe she saw something like the experiments at the hospital. Why — _how —_ was that stuff covered up? It wasn’t in the news three years ago. I checked.”

“Out of respect for my well-being, I’m not going to ask how you even know about St. Raphael, but here’s the answer you’re going to hate. Three and a half years ago, Mayor Lionheart had decided to run for reelection. He already had most of the predator vote, except for the really rich ones who didn’t think his progressivist agenda served their interests — fuckin traitors — and let’s be honest, he was a likeable guy. When someone fact-checked him, he wouldn’t just take responsibility for it, he’d promise to do better, and then, as a nice deviation from the norm, he’d actually do better. He said some pretty problematic stuff during his first campaign, but he didn’t include it in his second, and he stuck with Dawn Bellwether as his running mate. The sheep vote made it. They weren’t voting for him, they were voting for her. And the novelty of it — lion and sheep? Running together? Seeming to actually enjoy each other’s company? He obviously relied on her as a partner and she looked at him like he hung the moon. There were entire communities on the internet dedicated to _shipping_ them. It was insane, and if it was an act, it worked like a charm.”

“But what does that have to do with anything,” Nick asked, turning so that he was halfway in front of Judy; she could still see, but he was obviously placing himself between her and Rivers. It was annoying, but not worth making a fuss when she needed information. “I was there. It was unusual, but how is that relevant?”

“I’m getting there. You just have to understand the setting if you want to understand the St. Raphael clusterfuck. That doctor, Maude Honey or whatever, made her report _during his reelection campaign._ Any other politician would have ditched the dead weight that came with Bellwether’s brother-in-law getting arrested for experimenting on homeless predators, but not Mayor Lionheart. No, he just chose the brightest, friendliest, cutest face to slap onto the package and shipped out his pet initiative early while he quietly dealt with his running mate’s little _family embarrassment.”_

“Ouch,” commented Nick. “Three-point shot there.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Rivers shot back. Judy detected some animosity — but was it on her account, or did they have a past? Either would be bad, and she wasn’t sure who was trying to protect her from whom. “Anyway, it worked, for the most part. They were making headway, getting names and dates, trying to untangle everything; half the sheep they arrested had nothing to do with it at all, and some of them only knew enough about The Project, like capital-T, capital-P, to think it was aboveboard. I got pulled out of missing mammals for a while just to help with forensic accounting. When they all died, the investigation was officially closed, but behind closed doors, Lionheart and Bellwether and I think maybe Fangmeyer were working with District Attorney Sporeheel and at least one ABI team. Now that Lionheart’s dead and Bellwether’s the interim Mayor, the case is fucked. Sporeheel had plenty of reasons to want Lionheart out and Bellwether’s got no reason to cooperate with someone who was even annoying the ABI with his baseless accusations. The case is dead in the water without _evidence,_ and the whole case was riding on testimony anyway. They can’t even get that _doctor_ in to provide testimony; she’s nuts.”

“She’s lucid,” Judy defended.

“Oh, absolutely, I’m not saying she’s psychotic, I’m saying she’s nuts. Loca. Her entire blog, which I had the displeasure of perusing, is a mix of absolute brilliance, disturbing commentary, and unrelated trivia. Does she believe the things she says? Maybe. But when you write a 2,000 word exposé on the actual unethical experiments and follow it up with 3,000 more words imploring your readers not to eat roaches because it’s bad karma and evil sheep will murder you for it in your sleep, without even starting a new paragraph…”

“That’s a safety thing,” Nick said with a casual shrug that Judy suspected wasn’t so casual after all. “Do what needs to be done, but make yourself as small a target as possible. Honey’s not an idiot.”

“I know that, and you know that,” Rivers countered, gesturing at the three of them, “but any defense attorney worth a damn will jump on that. She’s not a credible witness anymore. By design? Fine, good for her for protecting herself, but nobody has a case without evidence, and they don’t want any of us to touch what they’ve got because we might fuck it up.”

“This isn’t the only time Crookwood has either bought off or killed off witnesses, though,” Judy offered quietly. “Could that help?”

“It’s been considered. It’s _speculation._ And the problem, Hopps, is that we can speculate till our heads explode, but the bigger the trail becomes, the bigger the smear campaign is and the less likely it is that anyone will believe it. Because really — what’s more likely? That a collection of companies that treats its employees like garbage but stays within the boundaries of the law is covertly killing off or disappearing key witnesses to a grand conspiracy, or the progressivist government of Zootopia has a grudge against a multinational corporation because a few rich douchebags flushed out a bunch of indie businesses and tanked the local economy? Grizzoli’s not even allowed to touch a case that might _smell_ like it involves an _employee_ of Crookwood, because his whole family’s in Happytown.”

Judy frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“Happytown wasn’t always like it is now,” Nick told her. When she looked up at him, he was looking out the window, twiddling his thumbs, obviously uncomfortable. He still didn’t move. “Once upon a time, when I was little, District 13 was really _Happy-_ town. Poorer families got to build houses, small predators opened up their own businesses, there were parks, libraries...even a theme park. Wild Times, with the third-tallest coaster in the country. Then Woolfyre stepped in with WoolMart and the Fyrefox clothing label, and...well, who wants to pay $50 for something they could get for $25? And there were jobs, which came with employee discounts. No benefits for part-timers, but if they could _just make full time,_ then maybe…”

He had experience, she realized. This was personal for him. She was angry on his behalf — maybe he’d been in a no-win situation before, too. Maybe that was why he’d had (and maybe still had) such a problem with her: because she worked for the government that tacitly encouraged this kind of disgusting behavior by not making laws against it. The more she heard, the more she wondered if maybe she didn’t deserve it. Her sponsor hadn’t even chosen her because of her hard work. He’d chosen her because she was _cute._ A _distraction._ And all this time, she’d thought that he had seen her...had _anything_ he said to her been true? Was it just a fluke that she was a good cop? If she had been at the bottom of her class, would he still have chosen to sponsor her to look good for his constituents?

“And the rest of Zootopia wasn’t hit as hard,” Rivers added, either unaware of the tension or choosing to ignore it. “It was a targeted attack. Again, shitty, but not illegal.”

“I’m really tired of hearing that,” Judy said angrily, looking between Rivers and Nick, feeling everything build up inside of her. Why weren’t they upset? Why weren’t they _fuming?_ She was. This was _exactly_ the kind of attitude that let mammals pretend bunnies were just things for so long. “Why are we just throwing up our paws and saying _oh, it’s not illegal I guess we’ll do nothing?_ Maybe it’s not illegal, but it _should_ be! Oppression should _never_ be legal!”

“I get where you’re coming from, but it’s not the same-”

“No, don’t say that to me, Rivers. _Don’t._ It’s not fair.” She felt tears in her chest, but she refused to give them clearance. She couldn’t afford for either of them to stop taking her seriously. “When a weed chokes a plant, you have to pull it out by its roots. When a system is wrong, it has to be uprooted too. Maybe I can’t do anything about this Crookwood situation, and maybe Kat is already dead, but I’m already risking _everything_ on this case. My aunts didn’t get caged for me to look the other way.”

“Okay, wait, I lost the plot here,” Nick said suddenly, frowning in confusion. “What are you _talking_ about?”

“We’re talking about murder and large-scale economic oppression,” Judy said passionately, at the same time that Rivers snarled, “Don’t play dumb, _Fox.”_

“Trust me, if I were playing dumb, you wouldn’t notice,” Nick retorted rudely. “Are we even still talking about Crookwood here?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we are. Thank you,” Judy assented, trying to contain herself. Nick was right; they couldn’t afford to get off-track. “Rivers, we need to know what Kat was researching the day she disappeared. Maybe if we can figure out which of Crookwood’s subsidiaries she was targeting, we can get a better idea of who could have taken her.”

“You know she’s probably dead,” Rivers warned.

“Then we’ll need to find her body. I’m not letting her disappear. They don’t get to bury her voice before she’s done talking.”

“I…ugh, Hopps, you are the _worst.”_ Rivers clenched her fist. Nick tensed again, but the wolf just turned away. “I can’t let you into the case files. But I _can_ give you a contact who knows more about mushrooms than anyone else I’ve ever met, and secretly keeps his eye on Crookwood. If she was investigating, she would have talked to him. He’s a bit of a weirdo, and he’s going to annoy you, but he used to be high up in the Woolfyre hierarchy about six years ago. Now, he’s just...high. All the time. And even though we promised to protect him, he would never agree to _officially_ talk about his former employers, so nothing he told us could go on the record. But if it’s just about a missing mammal, especially one he might have accidentally sent to her death, you’ll probably be able to squeeze a lead out of him, so long as you don’t disrupt his chill.”

“What’s his name,” Judy asked eagerly, “and where can I find him?”

“He threw out his name — and the concept of consumerism, apparently — and used his severance package to open up this _ridiculous_ spa, the Mystic Springs Oasis. Won’t answer to anything but Yax now.”

Nick’s sudden grin was alarming, and not for any of the usual reasons. He looked like he’d just been given a special present that he was most definitely planning to irritate someone with. She’d seen the same look on dozens of her siblings’ faces growing up. Her stomach sank when he practically purred, “Oh, Detective. You are going to _love_ this.”

“You won’t love this,” Rivers said emphatically. Oh, dear. What was she in for this time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually I just let the bad/unhealthy things in my stories speak to their own badness/unhealthiness, but in this case, I need to make sure this is 100% clear: Judy's thoughts about her former situation are not mine. They are what I believe she would think: why should Judy be furious about being born property when other people had it worse? If it's not a real problem, it doesn't have to hurt, right? One of the most annoying things about her character was the sheer amount of opportunities she had to explain herself to Nick, and that she took none of them. She was not a good communicator in canon, and my belief is that she decided her own problems (being so unfairly hated by her bigoted boss that he wrote off Emmitt Otterton as acceptable collateral damage in a shady scheme to get rid of her) and the systemic prejudice against her (not to mention her childhood trauma which was clearly affecting her) were unimportant next to the case and Nick's story, which she somehow didn't notice was almost an exact mirror of hers. I also believe she made that decision because it would hurt too much to acknowledge these things, and she wanted to stay positive, even at her own expense. Imagine how differently the movie might have gone if Judy had just told him everything...actually it would have gone badly, since she wouldn't have gone back to Bunnyburrow to find out what Night Howlers really were. 
> 
> Anyway, the point is, these sweet little dorks deserve all the nice things and one of those nice things will be good mental health/reasonably healthy coping skills, eventually. Y'all know how much I love writing Nick and Judy as people who talk to each other like functional adults.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playing fast and loose with Lapine here. Fuck it, this is an AU.
> 
> Judy's outfit at the MSO is basically a more conservative version of [Carmelita Fox from Sly 3](https://slycooper.fandom.com/wiki/Carmelita_Fox/Gallery?file=sly3-carmelita2.png) because it amuses me.

The Mystic Springs Oasis was a large complex just outside Sahara Square. Judy had passed its plain front entrance hundreds of times, and had never once thought to find out what was so mystic about an oasis; she had assumed, in fact, that it was a massage parlor, since everyone came out looking happy with their clothes askew.

Rivers was right: she probably wasn’t going to love this.

It wasn’t that she necessarily had a problem with nudity. Even regional rabbit culture in its original form had _preferred_ nudity to being clothed, and some bunnies just went around naked in their homes. But being unclothed in public made her uncomfortable, and seeing others that way was uncomfortable too. She wasn’t a prude in her own mind, but her desire to either keep clothes on or keep the lights off had bothered her one romantic partner enough that they’d broken up over it.

(She wasn’t too broken up over _that._ Maybe it could have worked out anyway, had she been more invested.)

“Well, we’re here,” said Nick, and she didn’t need to be trained to detect his note of glee. He was looking forward to her reaction, wasn’t he? Maybe if he’d sprung it on her, she would be mortified, but she’d had the entire ride over to prepare herself. She could handle it. She _would_ handle it.

Any second now…

“Well, I’m going in, even if you aren’t.” He reached up and pulled open the mid-sized door that had been cut into the large door that had been cut into the megafauna door. “You _could_ turn back, though — no shame in calling it quits if your delicate bunny sensibilities can’t take it.”

“Bunny sensibilities are hardly delicate,” she snipped, motivated into pushing past him through the door, “and I can take anything.”

The lobby looked pretty ordinary, other than the dim mood lighting making it seem hushed. Or maybe it _was_ hushed; the only mammal there was Yax, presumably, who was either meditating or sleeping. He certainly looked peaceful. Or, she supposed, _chill,_ as Rivers had put it. His deep breaths ruffled his...mane? Was that what that was? But otherwise the yak was still.

“Excuse me,” she said firmly, standing as tall as she could, which wasn’t very. She didn’t get a response, because of course she didn’t, why would she? Rivers had already warned her that he would be difficult. “Excuse me!”

One of the yak’s eyes cracked open. He took a deep breath, shook his head, and said, “Chill your voice, Bunny. We only allow good vibes here.”

“I’m sorry,” she told him somewhat disingenuously, “but I need to talk to you. I’m Detective Hopps, this is my partner Nick Wilde, and we’re investigating the disappearance of Katrina Castleberry, a journalist. You might have seen her just before she was taken.”

“Oh, for sure,” Yax replied, leaning over to take in the photo of Kat. He squinted. “She came in to ask me about what I used to do before I opened this place. Real insistent. Said it was a matter of life and death. I told her I’m fuzzy on the details — used to have a mind like a steel trap, back when I worked for the Greengrass Institute. Nowadays I can hardly remember my name, but back then, there was nothing I didn’t see.”

“And...what _did_ you see,” prodded Judy carefully.

“Did I already tell you I’m fuzzy on the details? Cos I am. I can barely remember my boss Mr. Partridge; half the time I can’t even remember that he was a ram who had one chipped horn and bad breath. I don’t remember anything about the numbers, either; your ocelot was real big on numbers, wanted me to tell her where I put the funds for the Death Cap project during the 2012 tax audit, but I told her she’d have to go look for herself in the Institute archives under 07B because I swore off all that corporate junk. It’s bad for the soul.”

Pulling out a notepad and pen to jot down what he’d said, she asked, “What was the Death Cap project?”

“Who knows? I was a numbers guy. I only heard a couple of animals talking about it, and I can only remember that they were transporting spores to Happytown for testing. I only remember _that_ because I had my first transcendent experience that day. I saw 12 animals with glassy eyes and slack mouths and mushrooms growing out of them, pretty brown and orange ones, and Amy Flank pulled me out of there before I fell into the void and gave me something to smoke.”

Brown and orange mushrooms fruiting out of dead bodies? That was probably one of the three postmortem decomposers. Some mammals had moved to using the mycelium to decompose their dead, preferring to use natural decomposers instead of fire and give back to the earth that had given them life, but that was a slow process. Greengrass Institute was supposed to be a private research center for food science. Why would they be transporting _Amanita phalloides_ to Happytown, or anywhere else for that matter? Out of anyone, food scientists would know how dangerous Death Caps were. For that matter, why were they slowly decomposing bodies in a research facility where an accountant could find them? The more she learned, the less she understood about this case.

The dark hush of the lobby felt sinister. She tried not to let it spook her.

“That sounds pretty rough,” Nick said, keeping the conversation going while Judy thought. He put his paws in his pockets, slouching, looking as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Maybe it was true, but she doubted it. She may not have known him particularly well, but in the past three years, he’d shown her enough of himself — after giving up on charming her, which had _almost_ worked in the beginning, until she’d learned that the loving single father had just been a sleazy scam artist — that she knew the difference between his _you had better believe I don’t care_ façade and true apathy.

“Naw, brother, it was magical. It’s a pretty good alarm, too — whenever I start seeing that again, I know it’s time to meditate.”

Maybe he was a difficult witness for the detectives who’d tried to get him to make a statement, but Judy felt sorry for him. He was either psychologically scarred, or so drugged up that he just lived somewhere between the past and the present. He seemed happy with where he was, but it was her job to push and investigate, regardless of how she felt. “Ms. Castleberry’s gone missing. She’s probably dead, but we’re hoping to find her alive. Do you remember the date and time she stopped by?”

“Whoa, chill, lil dudes, Kat’s not dead,” Yax countered, tone never changing. “She sent me a note two days ago. Told me to lay low once “the story” breaks, whatever that means. Can’t get much safer than this place — all the windows are bulletproof glass so think not even a rhino could ram through it, the insulation is top notch for soundproofing, and I got three independent teams who check the structure for faults twice a week. Gotta make it as safe as possible for the animals who need this place. Plus, there’s my living space in the back. I got the note back there, if you want to see it.”

“Yes, please,” Judy said eagerly. A lead! If the note really was from their missing ocelot, then it meant she was still alive — or had been in the past couple of days — and maybe she wasn’t missing at all, maybe she’d voluntarily disappeared. Maybe all they had to do was find her and offer police protection—

Well, maybe not. Would the ZPD even be able to offer police protection for a case that was so outside their jurisdiction that the higher-ups had classified the initial investigation? She still had 27 days to find Katrina Castleberry. Maybe she could secretly protect her until then. They could release Kat’s story, return to the station as heroes...hopefully. It was possible that Judy would be fired on the spot for investigating something classified. But...how was she to know it was classified if she wasn’t in the system? Maybe Chief Bogo had known where this would lead her! Maybe he hadn’t been acting on bigotry at all! Who could fault a detective for _stumbling upon a problem_ if she had no idea what she was getting into?

 _You know you don’t belong here,_ he’d told her, but Judy ignored the hurt. It was totally possible that he’d only said it to cover his bases in case someone figured out his game...right?

Yeah. That had to be it. The District Chief was a government official. There was a lot of speciesism in Animalia, both bunny-directed and not (she couldn’t forget the things Porcino had said about raccoons and garbage when he hadn’t known a detective was nearby), but with integration policy so new, _surely_ his attitude had to be deliberate. If it were still a systemic problem, Mayor Lionheart wouldn’t have sponsored her.

She grinned. That was that figured out.

“Well, come on back,” said Yax, breaking her out of her quick assessment. He stepped out from behind his desk, and Judy couldn’t stop the mortified squeak from coming out of her throat. In her excitement, she’d completely forgotten he would be naked.

Trying to cover for her fumble, she asked loudly, “What made you decide to open a naturalist club?”

“It’s in the name,” he responded, leading them through the door and into the back area, where more naked animals were...lounging, and playing, and wallowing, and this was too much! She focused on Yax’s feet and hoped nobody noticed the increased twitch of her nose. “Clothes on animals? Completely unnatural. I wanted to provide an opportunity to experience life as it was centuries ago, when we used to be free from all the constraints of modern society.”

 _Your kind used to be free,_ she thought, but refused to let it take up space. Things were different now. Besides, a larger portion of her brain was being occupied by how _naked_ everyone was. This was so embarrassing! Peripherally, she could see someone scratching their back on a tree, completely unashamed at their own satisfied moaning — how could Nick just take this in stride? Wasn’t he uncomfortable? Maybe he was just covering it with his amusement at her expense. Maybe if he weren’t laughing at her, he’d feel just as out-of-place.

“You could stand to take this seriously, Nick,” she hissed, hoping not to attract more attention than was absolutely necessary. “Stop looking at me!”

“But why would I look away,” he asked with a waggle of his eyebrows, “when I could watch you be cute?”

“Don’t call me cute,” she snapped.

“Touchy, touchy. Loosen up, Carrot Sticks. That’s what this place is for.”

 _“You_ loosen up,” she retorted, and immediately wished she could snatch the words out of the air and stuff them back into her mouth. What was she, four? This time, she totally deserved Nick’s laughter, so she resolutely followed Yax in silence. Just a few more feet, and it would all be behind her. Just a few more steps.

“Okay, buddies. Not that I want to be rude, but I don’t let anyone back into my private sanctuary. So you just wait right here,” said Yax cheerfully, gesturing with a lazy hoof at a shaded area against the back wall near the door (which looked exactly like the wall, and which she would have missed had it not been for the glint of artificial sun off one of the hinges), “and I’ll be right back out.”

He let himself in using a recessed ring pull, painted to look like wood, and closed the door behind himself, leaving Judy and Nick to stand somewhat awkwardly by themselves.

Judy wasn’t sure where to put her eyes. Everywhere she looked, there were either naked mammals, bright lights, or — worst of all — Nick, with his insufferable smirk. Even fully-clothed he managed to make her uncomfortable. She didn’t think he was doing it on purpose, necessarily, but she knew he at least got a kick out of knowing she felt weird about this.

She tried (and mostly succeeded) not to cringe away when he sidled up next to her and asked, “Isn’t this place just grand?”

“It’s very well-built,” she offered, attempting (and mostly failing) to sound smooth. “Um. The UV lights. Very nice touch. The trees are? Realistic?”

She sound ridiculous now, practically squeaking out her response, feeling his body heat. He was too close. And it was really hot, wasn’t it? Too hot for clothes, which was probably the point, but not particularly helpful for the voluntarily-clothed. She shifted, debating removing her light brown jacket, and decided not to, because her zip-up navy blue shirt had such tiny sleeves as to be almost nonexistent. In fact, as a younger bunny, she had often tucked the bottom of the shirt up inside before zipping the zipper and used it as a _de facto_ bikini top during hot summers, but that had been before, on the farm, where there was no need to be self-conscious or worried about...other things.

“I would have thought a bunny would be right at home here,” he said. Or maybe mocked. She really wanted to believe the best of him, but he was really good at making himself as irritating as possible. A small part of her wondered if she was only fooling herself. What if he was just faking everything?

No. Nick might have been irritating, and speciesist, and rude, but she could count on him to be exactly who he had shown himself to be for the past three years or so, if nothing else. Three years was too long to run a con on someone who might not ever prove to be useful to him. He’d have a more sympathetic ear in Wolfard, if he wanted a contact in the detectives bureau. And if he wanted to get on her good side, he would know that this was hardly the way to go about it.

“I don’t know if that’s a breeding joke or a poverty joke, but either way it’s not very polite,” she said coolly, glaring pointedly at an innocent brown stone near his feet.

“What? No, no, I…” He sounded upset. She chanced a glance at him. He looked upset, too. Was it because he really hadn’t meant it the way it sounded, or because he hadn’t expected her to call him out on it? He sighed and deflated, and she looked at the stone again just in case he tried to look her in the eye. “Look, Carr — Hopps, I just...God, do you have any idea how hard it is to work with you?”

“As hard as it is to work with you, I imagine,” she shot back.

He scoffed. “At least I’m consistent.”

“Consistently obnoxious, maybe.” He declined to reply. She glanced over again and balked — he was talking off his tie! Appalled, she hissed, “Nick! You can’t just get naked!”

“Actually, I can,” he told her smarmily, shaking his tie at her, “but I’m just readjusting. Yeesh, way to jump to the wrong conclusion. Again.”

She pretended to think about it, bringing a finger to her lips. Pushing aside her embarrassment, she looked him in the eye and said, “Fox who actively attempts to get under my skin almost constantly takes off his tie in a nudist retreat. It might not have been the correct conclusion, but it wasn’t the wrong one.”

“You keep talking like that and you’ll finally make the leap from Senior Detective to Junior Hustler.”

She snorted at that, partly because it had been so blasé and partly because of his actual words. “I’m hardly a Senior Detective.”

“Oh, don’t be modest. I bet if I lost my mind and went inside your station, I’d hear about you everywhere. The Ballad of Judy Do-Right. Ode to Hopps, the Forthright.”

“We Sing of Judy Hopps, the Peppy Perpetual Provisional,” she cracked nervously.

“Wait, what-”

“Got it,” Yax said, bursting out of his “sanctuary” with the letter in paw. In her startled excitement and haste to snap a photo of the evidence with her phone, and Nick’s interest in the smell of the paper, the prior topic was forgotten.

* * *

Ancient predators had, according to legend, been able to wait in the grass for the perfect opportunity to pounce on their prey. In a way, being a detective was a lot like being a predator in the traditional sense of the word: it involved lots of waiting, hunting for the right mammal, making sure not to give oneself away. Judy was not a predator; she was impatient. She wanted to move, to fight, to _do something,_ and it bothered her to sit on her rear and wait around for evidence and analyses and _appointments with specialty stationers._

As bad as she was, though, Nick was _worse._

“I could be working right now,” he fretted, pulling at his tie and pacing around her tiny apartment. “There’s money to be made, or I _guess_ a case to be solved, and instead I’m here, with you, in this cereal box, going over case files we already memorized.”

“By all means,” she replied, highly amused, “go out and hustle rodents into eating footprints.”

He paused in his pacing to give her a disbelieving look. “You know I can’t do that! Finnick’s MIA and Porcino’s still out there. _Waiting._ You know he was sniffing around my place last night? I couldn’t even go home. Had to sleep under a bridge. Kept waking up at weird times thinking someone was watching me. Promise me, Carrots, if I start talking about evil sheep or I make plans to move into a bunker, you’ll shoot me right between the eyes.”

She thought about what that might look like and grimaced. “Don’t be gross, Nick. Guns are for raptors and large snakes, not mammals. You _should_ move into a bunker, though. All those doilies you stole from Madge deserve a good home.”

She shifted uncomfortably on her bed and wondered if it was worth sacrificing one of her frozen dinners to get Nick to relax. Of course, she understood where he was coming from. The known scope of the Crookwood conspiracy was sobering, and pursuing the lead would mean ticking off both the ABI _and_ a big corporation with a lot of power. Judy didn’t want to wonder if Chief Bogo had known Crookwood was involved in Kat’s disappearance. She didn’t want to question if maybe her conclusion was just based on undeserved faith. She especially didn’t want to consider the idea that he was using her to investigate because he couldn’t wait to fire her when she inevitably stumbled onto classified material. But she did, and she kind of felt bad about it. _She_ had signed up for this kind of danger. Worst-case scenario, she went down...and dragged Nick with her.

She had gone through two years of intense training just to get to a place where detective work was feasible. But Nick hadn’t, and now that they knew just how dangerous this could get...didn’t she have a duty of care to her CI’s, too?

“You know,” she said, trying to sound as gentle as possible without straying into condescension, “you don’t have to come with me anymore. This is much bigger than one missing ocelot. Maybe you could help by giving me information behind closed doors, or-”

“You have no backup, Hopps,” he said flatly, turning to face her, paws on his hips.

She nodded guiltily. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

“What — no, that’s not what I meant. If you have no backup, you could get killed or taken.” He blinked and shook his head, as if to shake out some stray thought. “Where would that leave me? Ducking the beat for months, probably. Nope, I’m coming with you wherever you go. Besides, we’ve been seen asking around town together. Anyone who knows you’re investigating some shady stuff will know I’m your accomplice. It’s safer to stick together.”

That was true enough. It would be less dangerous if she didn’t have to protect some untrained fox in a jam, but again, she had a duty of care to him, since she had dragged him into this. Well, she hadn’t dragged him, not really. She had — oof, the truth was that she’d blackmailed him with his suspected (and inadvertently confirmed) crimes into giving her information that first day. How _forthright_ of her. But she had let him go after that, considering them even. That day outside the coyote’s office, he’d insisted on being a nuisance, and she had decided he might as well be helpful if he wanted a favor. But it was still, ultimately, her responsibility to serve and protect him, as annoying as he could be, fidgety as he was.

“You’re making me nervous, pacing like that. At least sit down. There’s plenty of room.”

“Last time I sat on that bed, we discovered a conspiracy. I’m not in a hurry to get more bad news,” he retorted.

She thought for a moment, looking around her tiny apartment. What could distract him? Maybe… “Would you like me to brush you?”

He went completely still. “What.”

“I love getting my fur brushed,” she explained, less sure about her offer now that he had reacted. Was she being weird again? Was this one of those bunny things? Unable to keep her shoulders from rising as if to hide her, she rushed to add, “In Ban — _Bunnyburrow,_ we brush each other when we’re stressed out. It feels nice. You don’t have to say yes, I just thought I’d be friendly. We’re friends, right?”

“Friends?” He looked her over for a moment and she felt very naked, but allowed it, because he hadn’t denied her friendship yet. Eventually, he put his paw over his face, dragged it down one cheek, and sighed, pivoting on his toes to drop onto the bed next to her. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t really do friends, but we can be buddies for another eleven days.”

“Buddies,” she echoed, a little disappointed but not surprised. Nick had a habit of acting crusty when he knew someone was paying active attention but he wasn’t selling them anything. She wasn’t sure why he’d do that, when it was so obvious that he enjoyed being liked. Maybe he just enjoyed trolling more. “At least calm down, _buddy._ We’re not getting in with Billie Flowers until she opens her shop tomorrow. Maybe now you can explain to me how you _knew.”_

He stayed sitting, so there was that, at least. He had a long torso, so he was still much taller than she, but it still felt like they were on even ground. She didn’t _want_ to feel this way; she hated feeling small. She hated feeling lower, less-than, helpless, all of which Nick had managed to effortlessly bring out in her for the first time that day. Maybe...maybe she was being unfair? Fay had been pretty certain that being afraid of him just for being a fox wasn’t speciesist, but maybe Fay was wrong. Judy hoped so. If it was her fault, not his, then it could be changed. She smiled encouragingly at him.

Nick just rolled his eyes and leaned back on his elbows. “I know everybody.”

“You’ve said,” she told him, trying to stay positive. “That doesn’t actually mean anything to me.”

“Okay, let me rephrase. I know everybody worth knowing, or at least, I know someone who knows them. Billie Flowers is a stationer with a particular clientele. She’ll sell to anybody, and her base is mostly mail orders from upper-middle-class mammals who want to look fancy, but she has a pretty big underground presence. Most small gangs have a sniffer — with predator-only groups, it’s usually a wolf, with prey-only groups, it’s usually a sheep, and when there’s a mix, it’s usually whoever they can recruit — and Billie makes specialty paper for messages. These days, tech is everywhere. Emails can be read, texts can be intercepted, even flip phones can be dangerous, although not as dangerous as the media pretends they are.”

“I’m aware. Part of that is deliberate on the part of whatever law enforcement agency is consulted on today’s popular cop show. Supposedly it’s a measure to decrease crime, but mostly it just scares grandmas chases criminals further underground.”

“Exactly.” He pointed at her briefly, fingers like a gun. His smile seemed genuine enough, so she smiled back, and his didn’t waver. Progress. “I know that and you know that, but the lowest common denominator? Not so much. So you’ve got little outfits who are scared shitless of getting caught...mostly they’re harmless, let’s be honest. It’s less like Mr. Big and more like if Mystery, Inc. decided petty theft was their true calling. Smash-n-grabs, pickpocketing, maybe even pigeon drop garbage if they’re as ambitious as they are stupid. The point is, Billie’s got the market cornered on specialty paper. All the gangs have a special scent, and only Billie knows which one is which unless someone tattles, and as the saying goes, snitches get stitches.”

She chuckled a little at his joke. “Aren’t you worried, then?”

“Please. No true lowlife trusts Nick Wilde with their trade secrets. I’m a pretty good middlemammal for deals between legitimate types and, well, more shady operations, and a _lot_ of mammals owe me favors, but I’ve never been a real criminal and I never will be. Not that your _esteemed_ colleagues believe that, but I have the best of both worlds. Good enough relationship with regular folks, protection in the shadows. Mostly nobody notices me at all.”

And that was probably his goal: to go around unnoticed and unmolested. She could, she realized, do a lot worse than Nick in a civilian consultant. Duke Weaselton was downright sketchy. She watched him scratch the side of his nose with a single claw and felt a little ashamed of herself. Sure, he was inherently dangerous to her, and yeah, okay, his kind had legally farmed and eaten hers as recently as sixty years prior, but what had he ever done personally to her other than be mean? He was probably equally mean to other mammals he didn’t like, and now that she was thinking rationally, she could see that he’d been _trying._ It was her problem. Nick was just...being himself. After trying so hard to get others to accept her as she was, did she really have the right to be angry at him for that?

“Uh...good for you,” she said, trying to sound encouraging. Considering his mildly amused expression, she didn’t think she’d quite knocked it off the park — or was it out of the park? What was being knocked, and why was it in a park? — but at least he wasn’t offended. “But I still don’t understand how you jumped from scented paper to Billie Flowers. There’s a lot of scented paper in Banib — Bunnyburrow.”

“Why do you do that,” he asked curiously.

She frowned in confusion. “Do what?”

“You keep starting to say Bunnyburrow, but then you say it again.”

“Oh,” she said, a little bit of embarrassment curling in her chest. She looked down at her knees, poking up a little through the navy blue leggings that exactly matched her zip-up shirt. “It’s actually called Baniburrah. I think the closest Commons translation is _Freedom with Seeds,_ but that’s not totally correct, because _burrah_ is one of six Lapine words for freedom and it’s partially borrowed from Cottonese because rabbits didn’t have a concept of bondage until we came into full contact with other mammals. When it got an official name, on maps and everything, it was Commonized to Bunnyburrow, I guess because _bani_ sounds like _bunny,_ even though it actually means _that from which the trees grow._ I used to get corrected on my pronunciation all the time in college, so...I just got tired of hearing it.”

“So you let go of part of your heritage just to fit in? That doesn’t sound like you at all,” he pointed out unhelpfully. “You muscled yourself into the detective department, didn’t you? Honestly, I would expect you to educate mammals rather than just...give up.”

Easy for him to say. Instead of giving him a long-winded explanation that truthfully she wasn’t sure made sense when taken beyond the surface, she shrugged and replied lightly, “I could spend all my time telling folks how to pronounce things, _or_ I could solve crimes. And you’re stalling. Billie Flowers, Nick.”

“Right. Yeah,” he said. He gave her a slow, thoughtful look that wasn’t threatening, but did leave her feeling weirdly exposed. She wished she were sitting against her headboard, but alas, she was sitting upright near the foot of her bed instead, and lying down beside him would feel too intimate. Thankfully, his expression cleared in favor of something a little more familiar: pride. “We go way back. The paper thing was Finnick’s idea; he might not be remotely friendly, but he’s smart. He figured there was a way to capitalize on the stupid technology panic, and he was right. That scent is something I _know_ she’s used before, though I couldn’t tell you where, and that paper is her blend — cheap recycled stuff she’s dressed up to look fancy. I doubt Yax would recognize it, and maybe I’m wrong about our missing ocelot getting it from Billie. There’s a reason scent evidence is inadmissible in court. But if it is hers, chances are, either Castleberry is holed up with one of the low-tech groups or she’s trying to send a message to whichever detective would inevitably be assigned to her case. My money’s on the former.”

“Because the latter is pretty farfetched,” Judy mused with a firm nod. “The detective assigned to the case could be anyone. Fangmeyer’s a great detective, but they’re a tiger, and their nose isn’t the greatest. What if it went ignored because nobody bothered to ask a sniffer or if there wasn’t any mention of Billie Flowers’ little underground business on the server? But a low-tech band of thieves would be great protection, because they’re not big enough to be on the radar of anybody but beat cops, and if she got arrested for petty theft, that would be instant police protection. Your logic’s sound. Great thinking, Nick!”

“Yeah. Great. Problem is, if I burn a favor to get Billie to tell me what group uses this blend, assuming it is hers and she’s honest about it, that’s it — she doesn’t owe me a favor anymore.” He raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips at her. “I hope you appreciate the help I’m so graciously giving you.”

Judy rolled her eyes. Either he had forgotten that he was only helping her so she would protect him, or he was teasing her, but either way that was a safe reaction. “I thought that was what favors were for. What’s the point of being owed a favor if you never cash it in?”

“Leverage, Hopps. _Leverage._ Not that I’m in any way eager to take a leaf out of the Big book, but he’s got the right idea; when mammals owe you, they’re less of a threat to your health and safety. Billie’s not exactly a threat either way, but it’s the principle of the thing.”

“Good thing you probably won’t have to “burn” that favor, then,” she chirped, making him sit upright again. Good, he was listening. “You’re still thinking like a hustler. I’m thinking like a detective. You know the best way to get someone to talk? Threaten them with a warrant _and_ a subpoena.”

“But that takes _weeks,”_ he pointed out.

“Yes. Weeks of being watched by beat cops. Weeks of fretting about what else they might find. Weeks of dreading the fallout — will customers trust you anymore? Will your credibility take a hit? Will your clientele move elsewhere? Will the IRS decide this is the right time for an audit? We don’t have weeks, obviously, but Ms. Flowers doesn’t know that. If she has nothing to hide, she’ll probably make a deal: information for anonymity, and even if she refuses to talk, that’s a lead we didn’t have before. If she’s involved and lies about it, you’ll be able to tell, and maybe I will too. Either way, we walk away with more than we had before.”

“Now who’s talking like Mr. Big,” he grumbled. “Why do you think I’ll be able to know better than you if she’s lying?”

“You know everybody,” she teased, “but aside from that, you read mammals for a living. I mean, you sell ice cream, but you know who best to sell to, and you know how to disappear, and you’re good enough at — what is it called when you’re hustling mammals, but only socially?”

“Ouch,” he commented.

“Well, anyway, you’re good enough at _that_ to be owed lots of favors in the first place. Those are all useful skills. I bet you’d make a pretty good detective, if you put your mind to it.”

“I’ve never been so insulted,” he said haughtily. “My calling is foot-shaped frozen goods, Madame, and you had better not forget that again.”

“Of course not,” she said, grinning, and she was pleased to note that he was grinning back.

* * *

Billie Flowers was a black bear, which made sense; bears supposedly possessed, and had _always_ possessed, the best sense of smell of any mammal, according to ethologists and biologists and geneticists alike. For some reason, Judy had pictured another canid, or maybe a ewe, but in retrospect she wasn’t sure why. Maybe because Nick had painted a specific picture using sheep and wolves. Or maybe because to Judy, bears were still inextricable with the ZPD. She knew logically that bears had other occupations, but she’d only ever met cop or detective bears.

Well, no time like the present to learn something new, right? She didn’t bother sticking out her paw, knowing it would be too small to shake, and instead she gave her biggest, friendliest smile and said, “Hi, Ms. Flowers? I’m Judahlia Hopps. I’d like to talk to you about some paper you might have sold recently.”

Billie looked down at her and Judy felt very, very small. She halfway wished she had Nick there for backup, but foolishly, she had insisted he stay behind to keep his relationship with Billie intact; if they needed to question her again, they might need that favor after all. Thankfully, beyond some annoyed grumbling about earning his protection (whatever that was about; Nick was so weird), he had not put up a fight. She hoped this meeting would go well, and she wouldn’t have to threaten the bear with a subpoena or anything else. Judy wasn’t looking to start problems with criminals. She just wanted to find Kat.

“Judahlia,” said Billie with a thoughtful frown. She leaned casually against the large, ornate glass counter with a single sheet of paper in each small compartment. The labels were paw-calligraphed and the shelves behind Billie were covered in bottles; it looked more like an old-fashioned apothecary than a stationery store. Even the bear’s clothing looked old-fashioned, a white Henley tucked loosely into button-up tan trousers supported by brown suspenders. Judy wanted to ask if it was some kind of theme uniform, but that was off-topic. Instead, she waited for Billie to finish thinking. “Not a very common name, is it?”

“No, Ma’am, it isn’t.”

“Arcadia, or the Burrows?”

Judy blinked at the question. It wasn’t one she got very often. “The Burrows. Bunnyburrow, to be exact. Ms. Flowers-”

“Billie,” said the bear sharply.

“Excuse me. Billie. If you’ll just give me a moment? I’m looking for an ocelot-”

“I thought you were looking for paper,” Billie interrupted with a snort that made Judy’s fur bristle. “Are you a private detective?”

“I _am_ a detective, of a sort,” Judy answered quickly, seizing the opportunity. If Billie didn’t recognize her — and there was no reason she should; Judy hadn’t exactly made the evening news, after her graduation, and even then it had been a couple of fluff pieces about the MII written by progressivist reporters with nothing better to do, and one particularly scathing criticism by a traditionalist nobody whose obvious disdain was more amusing than insulting — then she would try hard to get the information and leave, with nobody any the wiser that the ZPD had talked to Billie at all. That would have the best results for all parties anyway. “I’m looking for an ocelot, Kat Castleberry. I have a photo if you need it. I found a note from her, and a mutual acquaintance pointed me in your direction. I have a scent profile…”

“But not the note?”

It wasn’t an immediate no, so Judy took heart and pressed forward. “Sorry, no, I left it with the mammal who received it. Look, my missing mammal has gotten herself in a lot of trouble. I just want to find her before trouble finds the rest of us. The note was a...pretty disturbing warning. Can you help if I give you the scent profile?”

“Maybe,” Billie acknowledged, “provided you can pay me.”

She thought of her wallet and contained a grimace. After paying for Madge’s lokum and take-out for herself and Nick the night prior, she was nearly out of cash, and she didn’t get paid for another week. “Ah...how much do you want?”

“Oh, not in money, honey. I want information. Give a little, get a little. Equivalent exchange. You know how it works out here.”

Judy did not, in fact, know how it worked “out there,” considering that they were in the middle of Fruit Heights, the market kissing the Avenues in the heart of the Happytown spiral. It wasn’t like this was some shady pub on the riverfront. The door had a happy little bell, for goodness’ sake. “Okay...what do you want to know, then?”

Billie leaned forward and winked. “Who gave you my name?”

Judy’s face fell and her shoulders rose, despite all her training. She had promised Nick anonymity. Maybe she’d have to go with the subpoena and warrant after all. “I can’t tell you that, Ma’am. I’m not the type of mammal who compromises my sources just for a lead.”

She felt even worse, because that was hardly true. If this lead had been worthwhile, she might have compromised Nick — and what did that say about her? Did that make her a better detective, or a worse one? — so not only was she unsuccessful, she was a hypocrite, too.

“Really? I’m offering you a valuable secret. You’re not gonna give up whatever lowlife broke the code?”

“How do you know _I’m_ not the lowlife,” Judy asked aggressively. If she was going to commit to this case, then maybe it was time to stop being led. “Do you know every two-bit crook who writes notes?”

“You’re not a two-bit crook.” Billie shook her head, obviously amused. “Try again.”

“Fine. I slept with my source and sweet-talked it out of them while they were still recovering, okay?” Judy looked to the side, pretending to be ashamed, but really just hiding her face so Billie wouldn’t see any dishonesty. Judy was a decent actress, but it was better to be safe than sorry. She fiddled “nervously” with her paws, touched the hem of her jacket, made sure her nose was twitching. “At least a quarter of the mammals I’ve slept with just get a kick out of being with a bunny; any bunny will do. I’m not above using that. They’re not so much a source as a sucker I targeted. They don’t even know they led me to you.”

“Okay, so maybe you _are_ a lowlife.”

She nodded and glared up at Billie, channelling all of her anger at the gross mammals who had propositioned her solely on the basis of her species — because that, at least, was a real thing, and it disgusted her. “Underage” was a more common fetish than anyone was willing to admit, and because bunnies were small and cute and widely considered to be dumb, it was an easy leap. “I don’t care what you think of me, Billie. I’m not giving up the sucker’s name. Does that mean you won’t tell me about the paper?”

“Nah, I’m just messing with you,” said the bear.

“I...what?”

Billie stuck out her paw. “Gimme the photo and tell me what the scent profile is.”

Somewhat dazed, surprised that her gimmick had actually _worked,_ Judy held out the photo of Kat alongside a paw-written list. Instead of trying to memorize Nick’s description of the scent, she’d simply written it down, which Billie seemed to recognize right away. Her teasing grin turned into a heavy frown. “This isn’t in circulation anymore. What did the note say?”

If she told, it would be a risk. She didn’t know that Billie wasn’t in on whatever was going on, and if Billie _was_ in on it, Judy didn’t know if it’d be a help or a hindrance. Could she afford to tell the bear what Kat had written to Yax? “Why is that important, exactly?”

“Because I’m not telling you shit if your missing mammal’s in with the old boys,” snapped Billie, the fierce shake of her head making her beaded earrings jingle, “and unless this cat’s gonna save the goddamn world, I’m not inclined to help dig her out of whatever hole they put her in.”

Well, that sounded ominous. Still, Judy nodded in acquiescence. Maybe Billie didn’t want to get involved, but Judy had dealt with organized crime before, albeit marginally. She knew the protocols for that, and Nick would probably be able to tell her who to talk to, even if she wouldn’t allow him to go with her into such a dangerous situation. “She’s not a gangster, she’s a reporter. Her note said that her friend needed to stay out of sight when she manages to break her story. And this story...it’s not about small-time crime, Billie, it’s about the company who helped bankrupt half this district. Maybe it’s not going to save the world, but after everything I’ve learned about Crookwood...it might help save this district, and maybe Zootopia proper, too.”

Dryly, Billie replied, “What a nice sentiment. I want exact words.”

 _“I’m alive, but I’m not safe yet. Lay low when it breaks,”_ quoted Judy. _“There will be blood in the streets if I’m right and they’ll come for you.”_

“Dramatic little fuck. But if Crookwood’s involved, she’s probably not wrong. I’m pretty sure one of their little side hustles has a government contract or two. That could just be rumor, but who knows?”

Probably Madge. Judy didn’t mention that. She just shrugged helplessly and widened her eyes, hoping to look as cute and nonthreatening as possible.

“All right, fine.” Billie sighed, though Judy thought it might have been exaggerated. “Look, I mostly just take advantage of idiots who think their cell phones are basically magic beacons for cops who have nothing better to do than interrupt their weekly poker game. There’s value in staying off the grid, but honestly? We have murderers and rapists and real garbage here in Zootopia. One measly group of low-level scammers isn’t on anybody’s hit list, not even beat cops, unless they have a personal grudge. These guys are different. I used to sell paper to their leader, Gerald Prongs, when they were just running poor-quality cannabis — nobody got hurt by their product, just got a lesser high, and money is money no matter who it comes from. But they went bigger, and I didn’t want even a hint of association, so I discontinued that specialty.”

“Bigger, as in...theoretically... _Amainita phalloides?”_

“Theoretically,” Billie agreed.

“I don’t suppose you know where their base is, do you?”

“I sell paper,” said the bear flatly. “You want intimate info, find a rat.”

Judy winced. “Sorry. It was a longshot. I didn’t mean to offend you. Thank you for your time. May I have the photo back?”

“Sure, yeah. Do me a favor and keep my name out of this too, will you? I have a business to run.”

She tucked the photo into her bag and nodded once before turning and heading toward the door. That had been...well, not as helpful as she’d hoped, but certainly not useless. And she hadn’t even needed to bring her badge into it! Before she actually reached the door, Billie called out, “Hey, Detective.”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for not coming in uniform. That would have been bad for everybody.”

Judy felt her whole body stiffen. Billie had known the _whole time?_ All of that had been some kind of test? She forced a laugh and said, “Detectives don’t have uniforms, Billie.”

“All the same...I’m not saying I trust you — I don’t trust anybody who carries a badge and a weapon — but I can tell you’re not the type to put rules first. You didn’t sell out whoever gave you my name. If you say you’ll keep me anonymous, then you will. And if not…” Billie’s voice darkened. “Lots of mammals like me, and they’re not the type to take betrayal lightly.”

“Is that…” She swallowed, but refused to turn around and play the game. “Are you threatening an officer, Ms. Flowers?”

“Of course not,” Billie said genially, her dark tone from before entirely gone. “It’s like I said. You’re not the type to sell out a source. Have a nice day, Judahlia.”

“Yeah,” Judy murmured, hurrying to get out the door. “Have a nice day.”

The sun shone down pleasantly. Judy soaked it in and tried not to think about the implications. If a stationer commanded that kind of loyalty from the customers she served...what might happen if Judy accidentally ticked off someone with a much wider network?

 _She’s a smart mammal. She wouldn’t hurt me,_ she thought, and headed back to her apartment, where she’d left Nick. Billie hadn’t really threatened her anyway; she was just an independent businessmammal, trying to get by like everybody else. Billie wouldn’t hurt her. This case was a mess and she was spooked by its scope, but she would be _fine._ She just had to chase down Gerald Prongs and hope he was still the leader of whatever gang ran Death Caps for Crookwood.

She very pointedly didn’t think about Nick’s proud little catchphrase. Instead, she tried to focus on how smug he’d look once he learned how much of a help he’d been. She couldn’t wait to call him cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a whole rant planned for this chapter, because THIS STORY'S PROTAGONIST IS A FORMER SLAVE and it seems that a certain portion of readers is unable to read this story with that fact in mind, and they don't understand that a LOT of people who are being, or have been, abused and/or traumatized, will tie themselves into knots justifying both their own trauma and their reactions to it until new information is incorporated -- a.k.a., canon Judy, and therefore DWR Judy. But I'm not even mad anymore. Just know that I will not tolerate bullshit when the subject matter is this heavy. Feel free to critique my lack of consistent technique, my spotty presentation, my limited vocabulary, hell, even my life choices, and you'll probably be right. But do not make light of what Judy has been through or I swear to fucking Christ I'll break my second rule and boot your comment.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little fluff and insight this chapter. I'm somewhat worried that my idea for this overall story will end up being yet another instance of "Nick Wilde, Superhero," but I guess that's fine. There needs to be more stories with Nick being awesome without the subplot of Nick actually being a piece of shit.

Watching a fox sleep wasn’t something Judy had thought she would ever do, but here she was, watching Nick’s chest rise and fall at 2:13 in the morning. She didn’t regret offering him a place to stay, now that she knew Porcino was really trying to make things difficult — and _that_ was a conversation she was looking forward to; even if she had to pull rank, there was a difference between pursuing a lead on a suspected criminal and harassing a citizen — but she didn’t feel comfortable sleeping with him there. What if, while they were both asleep, she migrated toward the warm body at the other end of the bed and cuddled up to him? What if he let her? What if he _wasn’t_ the sort-of nice guy she thought he might be and did something creepy, like take pictures of her sleeping or steal her panties and sell them on the internet? What if he was just faking everything, hoping to get close to her, and planned to stuff her in a sack and sell her off to the highest bidder?

...Why was she even thinking this? He wasn’t a villain in a psychological thriller; he wasn't even a proper criminal, he was a garden-variety hustler running a dishonest but technically legal game who just _happened_ to have been a jerk to her more times than others because they’d _happened_ to run into each other more times than she ran into most civilians.

She didn’t worry that he’d eat her. She _didn’t._ It wasn’t in his character. It was just...well, rabbits had always been warned about mid-sized predators, especially foxes. They had been the biggest buyers, the most enthusiastic breeders. At least, they had been out in rural areas; big cities, however, had been different. As a child, Zootopia had seemed like a shining beacon of hope; there were no licensed city-based farms, and although there were certainly buyers and trainers, it was simply impossible to force-breed a colony unless they did it illegally. Most owners, according to stories, had even foregone leashes, except the two-way ones used for guide bunnies. _None_ of the owners had been foxes — though now, Judy understood that it had been less about regulation and more about economic and social inequality — and woe betide anyone who ate a bunny in the big city; there were detectives who actually bothered to investigate when “someone’s property went missing,” as disgusting as that was. Then, _Fleetfoot v Animalia_ had changed everything...

Things were different now, she had to believe that. The law said bunnies were equal, and sure, maybe the law could be changed, and there was already a precedent set...but the revocation of interspecies marriage equality had been short-lived...Nick wouldn’t eat her even if she were still a...

(It was _so hard_ to think of the word, especially here in the city, where everyone expected her to just be over it already. She didn’t want to think about anything at all, let alone times long past, but she _couldn’t stop._ It was 2:14 in the morning and there was a fox sleeping in her bed.)

He was curled up near the foot, his body contorted into a circular shape inside her four-sizes-too-large nightgown; his torso was long enough that the position didn’t look uncomfortable, and he didn’t take up as much room as she’d thought he would. Actually, with his tail touching his snout, his striped boxer shorts clashing with the lime green rabbits-riding-emu fabric, his fur fluffing out above his boxer line but below the tight-fitting nightie, and one ear a-twitch, he looked…

...Cute.

She put both paws over her mouth at the thought. Bunnies had a history with that word; the cuter the bunny, the less likely they were to be killed for meat, but being a pet was hardly better. Alive, but not free, taken from their families, forced to follow commands, or worse, forced to breed. She’d heard horror stories of bunnies starving themselves, trying to avoid both...killing their own kits to save them...but it was all in the past, right? And maybe now it was used as a degrading term to write bunnies off, or “explain” why bunnies ought not have full equality of movement or expression, but those were just jerks, right? Words on their own, not used as a slur, only held the meaning she ascribed to them, according to the Dean of her old university. It made sense, right? Even if it felt wrong, the line of thought followed itself to the end. She could think a sleeping fox was cute. He just looked so innocent, smaller than he did when he was awake. Even the bit of fang poking out of his lip was adorable. It was like looking at a kit. The part of her that recognized her duty of care to him as her CI wanted to preserve the part of him that looked so sweet.

Slowly, carefully, she leaned forward and covered him with her blanket. She didn't think she'd get much sleep, but that didn't mean he shouldn't. Especially if Porcino had been hassling him. Yeah, that was something she should focus on, since nothing else could be done on her current missing mammal case until either Madge got back to them or they got an appointment in the Archives.

Officer Porcino was a boar, 34, a brute, really. He hated anyone who didn't wear a uniform, and he hated Judy for “infiltrating” his precious ZPD, and and she suspected — but had no proof — that he was unkind to his family too. Once he got it into his head that he was right about something, nothing could change his mind, not even solid evidentiary proof. She knew him not because she knew every beat cop, but because he'd been on her radar from the beginning. He'd never directly threatened her, he just liked to _imply_ things.

_Any officer would be justified in snapping a muzzle on you for mouthing off like that._

_It would be a shame if someone stomped on Hopps, wouldn’t it?_

_Don’t you think it would cut down on repeat offenders if someone just roughed up the preds we have to bring in?_

She thought he'd probably _implied_ some things to Nick that he wouldn't state for the record.

In a way, Porcino and Nick spoke the same language. It was part of Nick’s little game to let things hang, _make implications,_ and allow his marks to come to the right conclusion. It left him plausible deniability, though; he couldn’t get into trouble for something he’d never said. It was the way most politicians talked, too. Never commit, only imply. She wondered briefly if it was ever hard to keep these implications straight. Would Nick be willing to let her in on Porcino’s implications? He’d already come to her for protection, it seemed logical that he would be open to helping her pin down a threatening element in the ZPD, but maybe he’d consider it too dangerous. Whistleblowing didn’t always work out in favor of the wronged party, after all.

So absent Nick’s testimony, how could she solve the problem?

“What are you doing up,” came Nick’s sleep-thick voice, and she looked up to the sight of him yawning. With all of his teeth on full display, she had a hard time not flinching, and she hated herself a little. No. She didn’t hate herself, she just...needed to stop conflating the past with the present. He sat up and scratched his belly. That was better; he was being cute again. “You bunnies are diurnal, aren’t you? Foxes are supposed to be the nocturnal ones. I think. Never did pay attention in history class.”

“I read that our species were both crepuscular in ancient times,” she replied, “but either way, I just...can’t sleep. I’m worried about the case, and wondering what to do about Porcino. I’ve been thinking, and you’re not the only mammal he’s a threat to.”

He managed to smirk even while sleepy. “I’m not sure whether to be happy I’m not alone, or jealous of the other boys he’s cheating on me with.”

“I’m sure he’s got a very special place in his heart just for you,” she teased, faux-reassuring.

“That’s what they all say, but it’s a scam. They only have one thing on their minds, Carrots. If you don’t give them the arrest they’re looking for, they’ll stalk you and harass you for a while and then move on to someone with more obvious actions and a bigger criminal record. Ugh. But I guess that’s better than the ones who _don’t_ move on. Those are the ones who end up on the evening news.”

Nick was joking, but he also wasn’t, and that was the most frustrating thing about this. Detectives largely avoided the prevailing sentiment; the two-year detective program was brutal, they spent _six months_ on de-escalation, and their entire job was to investigate crimes that had already happened, not to enforce stupid laws and ordinances or write traffic tickets. Unfortunately, beat cops only trained for six months total. In return, they weren’t allowed to carry sidearms, but there were still incidents, and problematic elements like Porcino. If she was in a different department entirely...was she still complicit?

She wished her brain would shut up. Nothing about this negativity would help anything.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” she said, instead of trying to voice her thoughts. She was only being negative because it was late. She always got a little more morbid than she liked when she couldn’t sleep.

He shrugged. “I don’t sleep very well either. At least none of your bedsprings are sticking out.”

They were both quiet. Judy pretended she wasn’t looking at him, and he pretended he wasn’t looking at her. It didn’t feel awkward, though, and with the vision of him looking so innocent while asleep in her mind, she found herself asking, “Nick, do you ever wish you had done something different with your life?”

“Different how,” he asked, eyes narrowing.

She shook her paws at chest level, hoping she could stave off the offense. “I just mean have you ever wanted to do something that you didn’t get to do? Like...do you ever wonder what it could have been like if things had been different?”

“Sure,” he said easily, leaning back against the wall at the foot of her bed. His expression was much clearer, so that was good. “There’s no point in wishing for different, though. They tell you when you’re a kit that you can do anything you set your mind to. Little Suzie can be a doctor, Little Billy can be an astronaut. But in real life, Suzie and Billy usually can’t be what they want to be. Why do you ask? What grand ambitions did Judy Hopps give up to become a detective?”

“I…”

She bit her lip. She had only asked to get to know him a little better, in what was retrospectively probably a really graceless way, but he had turned it around on her, and the realization that he wasn’t wrong didn’t sit well with her. She had never seen herself as the kind of mammal to give up on anything. For so long, she hadn’t allowed herself to question her ambitions, to be wishy-washy, to shy away from big decisions. These days, now that the Mayor was dead, it seemed like at least half of her brainpower was dedicated to justifying her presence in the city, even to herself in the privacy of her own mind.

“I used to put my whole heart and soul into everything I did,” she said quietly, looking at her lap. She doubted Nick would judge her, considering how small his own ambitions seemed to be, but she was embarrassed anyway. “Everything I tried was worth my full attention. And I tried a lot. After _Fleetfoot,_ I made it my mission to try everything, because my whole world was in an oyster. I was so full of energy and excitement when I got here — to Zootopia — where anyone can be anything. I was going to change the world, Nick, I was going to make it a better place. I don’t know what happened between then and now. It’s like that part of me got turned off when…”

“...When you learned that sometimes you can only be what you are,” he finished, looking at her with an unreadable expression.

She shook her head, but didn’t mention Mayor Lionheart. “No, I don’t believe that. I’m more than-” she refused to say _some dumb little plaything_ out loud. “-what they say about me, and you’re more than...whatever mean things folks say about you.”

“A _real articulate fella,”_ he said snidely.

She drooped from ears to lumbar spine, remembering their first meeting. In her fear of coming face-to-face with her first fox since the Greys, she had struggled to come up with anything nice to say that wasn’t some variant of _you don’t seem like the kind of guy who’d step on me just to remind me of my place._ “Not my finest moment. I’m sorry about that.”

“And...I guess I could have been a little nicer to you, too.” She looked up at him in surprise, and his expression turned a little sour. “Maybe a lot nicer, if that’s how you’re going to take an apology.”

She wondered if it was worth pointing out that she hadn’t heard an apology. Probably not. For someone who tried so hard not to care, he was so sensitive; she could never tell what his reaction was going to be. Instead, she smiled. “I guess we’re even, then.”

He shrugged and looked forward at her desk. It _was_ awkward now, and she didn’t know why. Finally, he asked, “Why did you ever think you had the power to make the world a better place? I mean, look at you. You’re tiny. You’re just one bunny. You don’t have any power at all.”

Once upon a time, she would have been offended by that, but she had spent years teaching herself to look for and pick up on the little conversational clues that didn’t naturally translate in her native tongue. He wasn’t even talking about her, not really. Was that why he was always trying so hard to be uncaring? Had he just gotten hurt too many times? “Is it really about power? Everyone said I wouldn’t be able to get through detective training, because I was _just a bunny._ I was too small, I’d be killed, nobody would respect me or take me seriously. I graduated top of my class. Everyone said I’d mess up and get fired within a week, because bunnies aren’t smart enough or brave enough or level-headed enough to do the job. I’ve been a detective for three years. I don’t think anyone just…”

But that was wrong, wasn’t it? She couldn’t say that nobody just _had power they didn’t earn._ Because some mammals had more power than others, inherently, as unfair as that was. Large mammals, especially large prey, seemed to just be able to breeze through life, even the ones who weren’t wealthy or who had otherwise bad situations. Society fell all over itself to accommodate them. Society was built _for_ them. Foxes, on the other paw, had almost no social power. And bunnies...well, Judy was sick of thinking about her own situation, so she decided not to.

“...Some of us just buckle down and do the thing we want to do. And not everyone succeeds, I know that, and I know there’s a possibility that in the grand scheme of things I won’t have any impact at all, but nobody would ever do anything if we all collectively decided not to try.”

“Yeah, about that,” Nick said carefully. Uh-oh. She wasn’t sure she was comfortable with that tone. “You said you were still provisional.”

“I’m still allowed to register CI’s,” she assured him with a bright smile. It was a little bit forced, but she didn’t want him to think she was lying.

“What? Oh, yeah, no, that’s not what I was asking. Though I probably should have thought of that.” He snorted in amusement. “Actually, I just can’t figure out why you’re on provisional status. It doesn’t make sense.”

Normally, she would worry about telling Nick the truth, not just because it was shameful, but because he had a history of using information against mammals he didn’t like. But for some reason — maybe because it was the middle of the night, and everything seemed softer in these hushed voices when they should have been sleeping, secrets that would be kept — she didn’t worry about that. With a small shrug, avoiding eye contact while pretending she wasn’t, she answered, “The Chief...well, on the surface, he pretends he doesn’t like me. Actually, I think he doesn’t like me, period. But he asked me specifically to investigate this case, and I think it’s because I don’t have the resources a full detective would have. I can look into Kat Castleberry and Crookwood because I can’t possibly know that it’s a kill zone, and I’ve proven that I can close cases even without resources using my, ah, my network. Mammals like you, who benefit from the minimal protections being a detective’s CI provides. He promised me that once I close this case, he’ll take me off provisional status.”

Nick gave her a weird look. “You think your boss gave you this case because you’re _just that good_ at your job?”

“He did give me a whole month just for one missing mammal.”

“Missing mammals cases go cold all the time,” he argued with a scowl. “Cripes, Carrots, I was being a dick when I said your Chief must not care about Castleberry, but now I’m starting to think I wasn’t too far off. What did you do to make him hate you?”

Her mouth dropped open for a moment. Was he really that obtuse? Or was he just messing with her again? “I didn’t do anything. I’m just a bunny.”

“Yeah, you’re both _prey._ Shouldn’t he feel some kind of kinship with you?”

“Buffalo were never prey the same way bunnies were,” she said, trying not to get angry, because Nick was a small predator, and he had his own problems. She couldn’t expect him to care about hers when he had to deal with police harassment, right? Speciesism against foxes was just as institutionalized as speciesism against bunnies, albeit in a different way. He had already admitted to her that she was the only bunny he’d ever spoken with, so he had no way to know that the old days weren’t as old as the law would have him believe. “It’s different. He didn’t expect me to amount to much, and he’s not used to being wrong, but you’ll see. This case is going to change everything.”

He looked her over very slowly. She tried not to fidget under his neutral expression. Finally, he sighed dramatically, rolled his eyes, and said, “You don’t have a month to solve this case, you have nine days. Without me, you’re left with the Duke of Bootleg, a housebound conspiracy nut, and a crime empire whose prices are _always_ too steep to pay.”

She didn’t know whether to thank him or hit him. She decided to do neither, and laughed instead.

* * *

The musty smell of the building made Judy think of the sad, underfilled library at “Bunnyburrow High School,” but she had always loved studying there with Sharla, and she wasn’t at all comfortable standing just outside the doorway, trying to simultaneously peer into the reception area and stay out of sight waiting for her cue.

“I know we need an appointment,” Nick said, tilting his head down to look up through his long lashes at the aging koala in the polka-dot bowtie and leaning on the counter with one arm, “but — my girl, she's real interested in Zootopian history. I've taken her all over town, revisiting my childhood, but some places...they just don't exist anymore, you know? I'd love to show her where my parents worked, where I spent my summers. My mama used to work in the facility in Happytown, the Greengrass-”

“You can't go into the archives,” said Dave, squinting through his dated bifocals. His voice was flat and gritty, like a robot with a persistent cough, but Nick kept his smile up even after being shot down.

“I don't want to go _into_ the archives, necessarily, it's just…” He sighed sadly and lowered his voice. “Look, this is the closest I'll ever get to being able to introduce this amazing, smart, _beautiful_ mammal to my parents.”

“I can make you an appointment,” Dave suggested, obviously not caring one way or the other.

Following the general timeline she’d planned out with Nick, Judy stepped into the cramped reception area from the hallway and said, “Nick, darling? What's taking you?” She blinked and pretended to size up the receptionist. “Oh, I don't have to be jealous, do I?”

“No, Sweetheart, it’s just that this mammal here says we can’t see where my parents worked,” Nick said smoothly, standing up straight with his tail twitching and his ears on alert. It was a pretty good act; it really looked like he was happy to see her. “We can’t, ah. We-”

“It’s okay,” she said, stepping into his space. It was uncomfortable, but she took his paw in both of hers and brought it to her lips. “We’ll find something else. Didn’t you say your mother worked a little garden in the Meadows?”

“That’s closed too,” he said morosely. He reached out and petted her ears, and Judy wasn’t sure whether she liked it or not. It was petting, which she liked from mammals she trusted, but it was also _Nick,_ and she still hadn’t figured out whether she _could_ trust him, let alone whether she _did._

“Well…” It was hard to pretend to pretend to not feel sad, but Judy thought she managed it pretty well. She lowered her voice to a level that seemed like it would be believably secretive, but could still be overheard. “I’m used to being turned away. It wasn’t very long ago that bunnies weren’t even allowed out on our own, remember? And you’re a fox, so...we’ll make it work in the meantime, and I’ll call my friend in the ZPD. They may not be good for much when it comes to enforcement, but the detectives tend to look down on hate crimes against vulnerable species.”

“Whoa, hey, now,” said Dave, frowning at them in alarm. “Who said anything about a hate crime? Following protocol isn’t against the law.”

“Of course. And if you follow protocol no matter what, I’m sure nobody could say you’re discriminating against anyone,” Nick said with a nod and a wink. “I’m sure you’re just a stand-up guy who’s never allowed anything to slip through or cut any corners, and an audit will show that. Or at least, you had better hope that’s the case. I’ve met Detective Rivers; she doesn’t play around with this stuff. She just _adores_ my Judahlia, and by extension, me. You’ll never see a firmer friendship between a bunny and a wolf than theirs.”

“But I…” The koala squinted at them. “I’m just doing my job. I can’t...I…”

“My parents worked for Crookwood too, remember,” Nick said gently, running an idle paw along Judy’s ear, his arm slung casually across Judy’s shoulders. She wanted to push him off, but that would break their cover, so she just smiled adoringly at him, listing off the menu at Lucky’s in her head. “I know how wretched they can be. They have an image to maintain. I’m guessing a controversial little legal snag would make them fire someone, where breaking protocol would probably just get that someone a smack on the wrist, if management ever found out at all. I’m sure whatever decisions you make from now on will be the right ones.”

“Just...be quick about it,” said Dave grouchily, digging through a drawer Judy couldn’t see and then dropping a key onto the counter for Nick to grab. In a lower tone of voice, he added, “Nothing to see in the archives anyway, just a bunch of numbers.”

“Numbers tell the truth, according to my father,” Nick said with a shrug. “C’mon, Sweetheart, I’ll introduce you to my parents.”

Judy could hardly believe they had pulled it off.

Getting an appointment to view archived records took weeks — weeks they didn’t have. Now that they knew what they knew about how classified everything was, Judy knew that she wouldn’t have been able to get a warrant to see the archives, which had left them with trickery, bribery, or blackmail. Neither she nor Nick had the kind of money to bribe Dave, which was fine since that left a sour taste in her mouth, and maybe their little charade had been a bit blackmail-y there at the end, but they couldn’t have gotten that far without Nick’s story about his parents.

When questioned, she would be able to answer uncomfortable queries truthfully. Who let her into the archives? She didn’t know him, his name had an A in it though. What did he look like? She wasn’t sure, she hadn’t gotten a great look at him, as she was so short. Did money exchange paws? Of course not, who did they think she was?

(She would never tell Nick, but this wasn’t the first time she had used less-than-honorable methods to gain access to information. It was the nature of her situation as a detective who often had to utilize her street network in lieu of having real police resources. As long as she didn’t do anything to jeopardize her case or blatantly break the law, she was fine, and _oh dear,_ she had more in common with Nick than she’d thought, didn’t she?)

Once Judy and Nick were well out of sight, Nick took his arm off Judy’s shoulders, but neither of them took the opportunity to move away. Instead, he leaned over and said, “You never cease to surprise me. Again with the implied blackmail. And using my species against him? Muah.” He dramatically kissed the tips of his fingers and grinned sideways at her. “Icing on your delicious little carrot cake. Where do you see yourself in five years? If you’re not sold on the cop thing, there’s an opening for you in the criminal element. I’ll make some introductions.”

She snorted. If she lost her work citizenship and stayed in Zootopia without a sponsor, she’d be part of the criminal element by default, as ridiculous as that was. Elbowing him in the side, she answered, “No offense, but if I ever go criminal, I’ve already got bigger inroads. You can work for me, though. I’m sure we can put your clever tongue to good use.”

Nick choked on his saliva and darn near tripped over his own feet. Judy’s whole body felt as though it were on fire when she realized what that had sounded like. With a great wave of both paws, she said hastily, “That came out wrong! I meant you have amazing oral skills — gah, _no,_ I mean you were really good back there! Talking. You’re a good at talk...I’m going to shut up forever now.”

Nick, at this point, was laughing so hard he was halfway bent over, so she paused in the middle of the hallway, foot tapping against the floor, until he was done with his little giggle fit. She knew she’d made a fool of herself, did he really have to rub it in? “Do you have to do that here?”

“Carrots,” he said, still laughing and clutching his belly, “look up in — heh — the south left corner. Not obviously.”

Judy rolled her eyes, folded her arms across her chest, and looked at the south left corner. Oh. A camera. She should have guessed, but she couldn’t even hear it; usually she could hear a light hum. It was clearly top-of-the-line tech. She continued circling her head, making it look like she was simply rolling her neck to relieve some tension, and said, “Well you’ve had your laugh at my expense, let’s go _meet the parents.”_

He nodded and straightened the little smile at the corners of his mouth the only evidence of his prior laughing fit. She was a little unnerved at how easy it had been for him to make that shift. In an overly obsequious tone, he replied, “Yes, Ma’am. I just can’t wait to show you what went down when I was younger.”

Was he putting on a show for the cameras? Did he think surveillance had audio? _Did_ it? Probably it was better to be safe than to be sorry, so she smiled at him and said, “I can’t wait.”

They walked in amicable silence as they searched for room 07. The main hallway — possibly the _only_ hallway — was long and led to several rooms that seemed to not be organized in any logical way, the door to 02 nestled against the door to 46 across the hallway from the door to 19. Finally, they came to room 07, right next to a big restroom. Nick had to reach high to grab the lowest handle, but at least neither of them had to jump or use each other as stepstools.

The lighting in the room was dim, even when the fluorescent lights flickered on. The harsh light reminded Judy of how much sleep she hadn’t gotten the night before. Although everything in the Archives was made for megafauna, presumably for accessibility purposes, at least they didn’t have to walk far to get to row B, which (according to Yax) would tell them where the Greengrass Institute put the funds for _something_ during a 2012 audit. What that had to do with _Amanita phalloides,_ Judy wasn’t sure, but if it had inspired Kat and gotten her into trouble, it was worth a look.

The file, presumably, would be in section G for Greengrass, somewhere in the 2012 portion. Judy climbed the rolling ladder, jumping carefully from step to step, to get a better look — there it was. Like a neon sign, the label _Amanita phalloides_ drew her eyes. It was just out in the open like that? Were they really that arrogant, or had someone fallen asleep on the job?

The large file was unwieldy, sized for megafauna, but it was thinner than she'd expected. Pulling it out carefully, Judy held it in her paws and edged to the end of the step. “Nick, I need you to reach up and take this from me.”

He looked between her and the door, sniffing once, and then got up onto the first step. While he reached up, she sat down on her own step and carefully passed the file down to him before following him down. They wordlessly sat down next to each other on the bottom step, and when Nick opened the file, Judy braced herself for whatever was to come.

The content didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

In plain terms, without technical legal language justifying the decisions or absolving Greengrass of its ethical misdeeds, the grand design of the Institute was certainly food science — the science of growing real animal flesh as a source of food for predators. The project had begun in 2001, and in 2012, they hadn’t figured it out. Samuel Yaxley, an accountant, had done some mathematical sleight of hoof to hide the evidence that they had been buying cadavers from a local hospital for study purposes…

...and Crookwood had bought the hospital, changing the name from Garden Regional to St. Raphael, before partnering with ZU and applying for a government grant to study α-amanitin synthesis. That was all Judy could extrapolate from the numbers and brief case studies in the file, though she imagined there was probably a lot more that hadn’t made the official records. Ultimately, this file was the heroic story of food scientists who wanted to help cancer patients by studying the naturally-occuring α-amanitin in _Amanita phalloides;_ the cadavers had only been mentioned once, and only as justification for buying the hospital. The “rogue scientists” had been fired and Crookwood had bought the hospital as an act of reparative charity.

“Birdshit,” Nick said flatly when she’d finished summing up the story.

“I’m inclined to agree with you,” she admitted, as much as she didn’t want to. She had no doubt that right now, there were still scientists who were working on growing real meat. It was a weird question of ethics and social mores; if nobody was getting hurt, was it okay? If they were eating synthesized flesh, did it even count? As a mammal who wanted everyone to be able to be healthy and happy, she could see the potential in mass-producing protein that didn’t need to be supplemented for ancestrally obligate carnivores, who generally ended up spending an absurd amount of money on vitamins and foodstuffs even now that almost everyone was omnivorous. As a bunny just one generation removed from the meat farms, everything in her screamed that it was _wrong._

“They bought an entire hospital just so they could keep killing actual, real mammals. I...meat-eaters don’t even eat whale meat because of the chance that they could evolve, or they have and we just didn’t notice because they don’t communicate the way we do. How could anyone…?”

The realization that Nick _really didn’t know_ was bitter. On the one paw, it was nice to know that he didn’t use oft-repeated bunny slurs because he thought she was a thing; he used them because they were rude, even if he didn’t understand why; but on the other, it hurt to hear that coming out of his mouth. Schoolkits were taught why whales were off-limits, but not that bunnies hadn’t been considered mammals, or even potential mammals, until recently.

_Why?_

Rabbits and hares were furry vertebrates with mammary glands, which strictly speaking was the only qualification needed to classify a species as “mammal,” although scientific classification and social classification were entirely different things. She’d heard tales of ancient bunny warriors fighting off predators with weapons when the predatory animals had only used their claws and teeth. And sure, the imagery of the “savage predator” could have come from bunny bias, but somewhere along the way, bunnies had gone from organized societies to food. That part had always bothered her, but there were no answers. She didn’t have time to dig for answers about the apparent revisionist history, either, because this case was ridiculously convoluted.

Maybe Madge wasn’t so far off from this all being a big conspiracy after all.

“Does it matter how or why? None of this helps us find Kat. We know she probably came here, but what conclusions she drew or where she went after are still a mystery.”

“Maybe not,” Nick mused, leaning against the side. He still looked shaken, but he’d pulled on a mask of indifference that was only slightly ill-fitting. “We know that she went and talked to the smugglers after this, and she either stayed with them or stole from them. The paper’s a thin lead, but we at least know she had some kind of contact with them after she talked to Yax but before she sent the note, so I’m pretty confident in my timeline.”

“And now we know that there’s a link between Kat, Madge, and Yax through St. Raphael,” Judy added, “so if — _when —_ we find Kat, we can probably use her testimony to get Yax some protection from whatever fallout might arise. I doubt that Madge will accept protection, though. We had to get a mob boss to ask her to pretty please talk to us; it doesn’t seem likely she’ll want to talk to the feds, let alone live with them. We should take pictures of all of this. Do you have your phone on you?”

He rolled his eyes and dug into the pocket of the slacks Judy had thrown in the washer the night before. “Do I have...who do you think I am, Carrots, your grandfather?”

“Oh, crackers, Nick, you’re not _that_ old. Unless you’ve kept yourself in perfect shape, in which case I’ll need to know your secret,” she teased. She fumbled with her own phone — she still wasn’t used to using a smartphone, and most of the native apps on it seemed completely pointless — but managed to bring up the camera before Nick noticed. “You get the left, I’ll get the right, and we’ll send each one to each other just in case. And then we should send it all to Madge and ask if she has access to more info.”

“Sounds unnecessarily tedious, but okay,” he said doubtfully, but did as she’d asked.

“It’s not like any of this information is digitized,” Judy defended reasonably. “Technically it’s illegal for them to not have hard copies of this data, but there’s nothing saying they legally have to have digital copies. If we’re being honest, this isn’t very helpful in a case against Crookwood; it’s just...an explanation of why they bought a hospital and where they got the funds for it. I was hoping for something juicy enough to be a lead on our ocelot…”

“I know a guy,” Nick said, sounding reluctant.

“A guy?”

“A guy who can get us in with Gerald Prongs. I really didn’t want to have to talk to him about this, but I can’t think of another way we can just...walk up to a guy who smuggles deadly mushrooms for a giant corrupt corporation and walk away without any consequences.”

“And this guy…” Judy stood up, planning to return the file to its rightful place. “He has some magic power over criminals that can make them talk to us?”

Nick’s expression soured. “It’s James Sporeheel.”

“No,” she said, her stomach sinking into her heels. “No, that... _why…”_

“I got his son out of a jam a few years back,” Nick explained, as though this wasn’t _earth-shattering_ information. “Shady deals are his true love, but his family’s a pretty close second. He owes me for that, and he always will. You can’t put a price tag on a life when it’s someone you love.”

“But...he’s — he’s supposed to be…”

“Do you really think he made it all the way to the DA’s office on _hard work_ alone?” Nick scoffed. “He came from nothing. He would have been nothing if his big sister hadn’t slept her way through Jimmy Brownpaw’s ranks to finance his education. Course, he never talks his sweet, kind, _fox-slut_ sister, but I wouldn’t expect him to. He’s been a piece of shit his whole life — trust me, I had the misfortune to grow up in Happytown with him — and frankly, I’d love to go the rest of my life without ever seeing his big stupid gap-toothed smirk again. But I can’t think of anyone else who can get us a pass in and out without worrying about the cost.”

“And…” She swallowed, still reeling at the revelation that Zootopia’s DA was dirty. She’d have to add that to her ever-growing list of ills to address once this case was closed. “Why wouldn’t you worry about Sporeheel’s cost?”

“His son’s not the only reason he owes me,” Nick said with a vicious smile. “I’ve got his balls in my claws no matter what, and I usually find it beneath me, but you’re not the only one who knows how to use inconvenient information to nudge someone in the right direction.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT CHAPTER IS THE ONE, FOLKS. I've written way too many words without our heroes having The Discussion, but The Conversation is finally gonna happen in chapter 7! Stay tuned.


	7. Chapter 7

District Attorney Sporeheel was a well-groomed, slightly chubby woodchuck in an expertly-tailored suit. His smile was, as Nick had predicted, more of a smirk than anything, and it turned into an outright leer when his assistant (a red panda named Miranda who looked unhappy to even exist in the same vicinity as Sporeheel) ushered them inside his office and let herself out.

“Well, well,” he said smoothly, leaning forward a little with his elbows on his desk. Judy had seen him speak once before, although she had never met him in person; she had admired his smoothness then, assuming friendly professionalism, but now it just sounded slick. Unpleasant. She wanted to jump up and threaten him, maybe point at him dramatically like they did in the action films she secretly loved, but neither she nor Kat could afford that. “Nick Wilde and a little bunny, together, in my office. How interesting.”

How strange this all felt. Just a few hours ago, she had respected Sporeheel for fighting his way into a field usually reserved for predators. Criminal law was a predator’s game, and it always had been; prey usually had an advantage over predators in their same size classes, with a few notable exceptions like lions and wolves, but law was different. It had started with duels and champions, not words and writing. Lawyers and courts of law were the social compromise, a way of acknowledging that might didn't always make right. Sporeheel hadn't earned his place there after all.

“Great to see you again, _James,”_ Nick said exuberantly. He waved a paw. “Jamie, this is my new bestie Dahlia Leaps, hooker with a heart of gold. D, this is Jamie Sporeheel, professional douchebag. He moonlights as Zootopia’s District Attorney.”

“Nick,” she said, scandalized. There was value — she _supposed —_ in keeping her identity a secret, and she knew that Sporeheel was bad news, but to say it like that? To his face? What would that accomplish? For want of anything intellectually inspiring to say, Judy added, “Hooker is an outdated term. And it’s rude. You’re supposed to say sex worker.”

Oh, _crackers._

With amusement in his voice and a sparkle in his eyes, Nick drawled, “So sorry, Sweetheart. It just doesn’t roll off the tongue well. Anyway, Jamie, my dear, darling Dahlia’s looking to expand her market, so to speak. It’s not that she’s unhappy with her agency or anything, but there’s a difference between the fresh-faced boys who wanna be jackhammered under the tail, or worse, _make love,_ and the more... _mature_ crowd with more _discerning_ tastes.”

The lascivious grin on Nick’s face made Judy feel nauseated. They hadn’t talked about this; all he’d said was to let him do the talking, and now she regretted agreeing to it. This felt like he was selling her — not advertising services, like a real sex worker would, but selling _her,_ and her stomach roiled, and every instinct in her told her to run. Get away, leave the dangerous fox behind—

“Nice to see you’re still as classy as ever,” Sporeheel said with a snort. He settled his chin in the palm of one paw and tapped the desk with each finger with the other, _tap-tap-tap-tap,_ over and over. Judy focused on the sound to keep herself from bolting. “Whose money do you want this time? Please tell me it’s Jimmy Brownpaw’s son.”

“Gerald Prongs,” Nick corrected, tone flippant, shaking his finger. “You know they’ll pay through the nose to get a hot piece of tail all to themselves.”

“And _you_ know I wouldn’t risk my safety on a substandard product, so…” Sporeheel turned his gaze on Judy, who tried not to shudder. “It’s only fair to let me test the quality.”

“Out of the question,” Nick said, or maybe Judy just wished he would say it. Wouldn’t it be nice if someone would stand up for her for a change? What was she thinking about? Sound went funny as burning rage battled with abject terror, twisting Judy’s insides into knots, and her mouth felt like she’d gotten a taste of battery acid, and was that popping real, or was her brain somehow misfiring?

Anger won over fear, as it tended to do, and a shroud dropped over her, separating her from everything, everyone, every threat. She could hear the anger in her own voice even through the shroud as she stood quickly and slammed her fist on the desk. “Stop. Both of you _stop._ I don’t know who you think you are, but selling bunnies is still a crime, last time I checked, and I can’t allow this kind of talk.”

“Shut up, Carrots,” Nick muttered under his breath.

Sporeheel just looked triumphant. “I knew it. You’ve always been a failure, boy. But it’s nice to finally meet _you,_ Detective Hopps.”

Nick planted his forehead in his paw, shoulders drooping, and Judy’s ears lay flat as she realized she’d been played. Sporeheel had been as gross as possible to draw her out, and it had worked. Well, she’d been caught, so there was no point in pretending anymore. She straightened her shoulders, made sure her ears were pointed straight up, and said, “I don’t think I can say the same. From where I’m standing, it looks like a government official just tried to facilitate a slave trade.”

Both males looked at her like she was crazy, but Nick got over it quickly and, looking exasperated, took back the conversation. “I was hoping to avoid this next part, but you both blew it, so, _thanks for that._ Jamie, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal, I really do need you to put in a good word for us with Prongs. It’s for a case, y’see.”

“All the mighty force of the ZPD behind her,” said the woodchuck, raising an eyebrow, “and she turns to scum like you, and you bring her to _me?_ What can I authorize that the _great_ Idris Bogo can’t?”

“You can guarantee our safety,” Nick replied. He leaned back in his chair, looking like he had no problem at all. Judy couldn’t bring herself to even look at her own chair. Her heart was still pounding furiously in time with the pulsing in her head and nose. “We both know you turn a blind eye to whatever shady deals the cops don’t know about. The official report won’t even mention your name. Anonymous source, all of that. It’s a missing mammals case, nothing a soft little sycophant like you would be involved in. A runaway. We just want to find this prick and close the case.”

“Again, the District Chief has resources.”

“Yeah, but he hates her.”

At this, Sporeheel looked intrigued. “Is she bad at her job?”

“Not at all, actually,” Nick countered, and Judy would have appreciated it if they hadn’t been talking about her like she wasn’t even there. They were treating her like a _thing,_ just a piece of bunny-shaped furniture Nick had failed to sell, and she wanted to interrupt them, but what would she say? _Pay attention to me_ was just juvenile, wasn’t it? “She’s quite good at her job.”

“Oh, I get it. He hates her because of all the — special benefits she gets just for being born bunny.”

 _“Excuse me,”_ she said flatly, unable to hold it in any longer. Nick looked between them, suddenly wary; he could probably tell that she was not happy with Sporeheel’s insinuation. She was already unhappy with both of them, Sporeheel for being a slimy cob of rotten corn and Nick for trying to _sell her_ and both of them for treating her like a big piece of nothing.

“Oh, I’m not blaming you,” the woodchuck “assured” her, waving his paw lazily in a half-circle shape. “You’re a protected class. There are scholarships, hiring incentives, sponsorship incentives, special protections under the law, all of that. You are literally the most privileged species in Animalia, and it’s not like that’s specifically your fault, but I can see why that would piss off a traditionalist like Idris.”

There was a sort of ringing in Judy’s ears as she tried, and failed, to process his logic. She wanted to _rage_ at him, to take him by the shoulders and _shake_ him, but she would only allow herself to ask, “Why, _exactly,_ do you think those things exist, _District Attorney Sporeheel?”_

He shrugged. “We both know it’s _not_ a conspiracy to let bunnies overrun the country, because that’s stupid and Lucas Woolworth is stupid for saying it live on Flocks News, but the stated reason is reparations for the enslavement of sentient persons, and I’m not sure which one sounds more insane.”

It was like a bucket of cold water had drenched her, putting out all the flames of her anger and leaving her with ash in her mouth. That did sound insane. It _was_ insane. But that didn’t mean it was false. The implications here were staggering. If Sporeheel thought the truth wasn’t real...but he was an _attorney,_ and no matter how good or bad he was at his job, he would have learned about the case that had changed everything...

His tone went soft and gentle, and it made her skin crawl. “You and I both know that bunnies evolved late, Judith. It took your species too long to even master speech as a group well enough to convince preds not to eat your kind; nobody could have known. I know _Fleetfoot._ It’s unfortunate that it took a suit based on a technicality to get you official recognition, and I agree, it should have happened sooner. But you can’t blame today’s mammals for the ignorance of our parents. It’s not like _we_ learned about rabbits in school. I didn’t even know your species existed until I was ten, and only because I asked my teacher why Mrs. Appleton always had a long-eared mammal leading her around.” He chuckled, like it was _funny,_ like he wasn’t spitting on every bunny who had suffered through that, and she felt so, so hollow. “I know, it’s rude to stare at the blind, but-”

“Wait,” Nick growled, making Judy’s fur stand on end. She’d thought she knew what Nick sounded like angry, but she had been wrong. “What are you saying, Jamie?”

“This isn’t important, Nick,” Judy said. “The case-”

“Like hell it isn’t!”

“It’s not going to help us find our runaway,” she told him, narrowing her eyes as they made eye contact. He bared his teeth in response, but as hollow as she felt, she couldn’t even take it as a threat. She turned her head to look at the woodchuck. “District Attorney Sporeheel, I can’t force you to do something to help us. I can’t force you to make some introductions. I can only ask that you take pity on a missing mammal.”

“And _I,”_ Nick added, “can only remind you that your coworkers — not to mention the press — would be very interested to know what the DA who built his reputation on _fairness_ and _justice_ likes to do with muzzles on his off-hours.”

Judy knew that eventually she would feel enough to want to get that story. She hadn’t imagined Nick as the type to kink shame anyone, but in retrospect she wasn’t sure why. He hadn’t held back from telling her what he thought of her as a mammal when they’d first met. She watched in vague, disconnected surprise as Sporeheel scribbled something on a clean letterhead, signed it with a flourish, and passed it to her.

“Be there at nine tonight,” Sporeheel said sharply, “and get the hell out of my office.”

It took her a moment to register the dismissal, because the lights were so bright and her head was pulsing and everything seemed wrong. It felt like one of those dreams, where everything matched the mundane world but it clearly wasn’t real. Sporeheel’s mild scowl belonged on a fashion mannequin, not on a real mammal. Nick’s paw touched her shoulder, but he drew it away when she flinched hard. In a low voice, he said, “Come on, Hopps, let’s grab a nap before we do another all-nighter.”

She followed him silently out the door. It was only her academy training and her experience with the ZPD that kept her from looking defeated; her posture was perfect, her gait was strong, and to an onlooker she wouldn’t look like she had just narrowly avoided a panic attack. Once they were clear of the door and had entered the giant, gleaming lobby of the building, Nick whirled around with a smile. “Damn, I love the thrill of the hustle. Don’t get me wrong, I want to know what all that stuff about evolution was about, but did you see how he _ate up_ what we sold him? I-”

_Sold._

_Sold._

Everything, all the anger, came surging back suddenly. She stepped close to him and poked him in the chest, uncaring if anyone saw, and cut him off before he could say anything else. “How many other bunnies have you _sold,_ Nick Wilde?”

“Whoa, there. It was just a game,” he said, clearly going for soothing, but she wasn’t very soothed. “It was just a gambit. To see if we could sneak you through without letting him know we were on official business.”

“Was it, though?” She stepped closer, right into his space, and he stepped back. Some part of her thought this was probably ridiculous; even if Nick were the type, he didn’t have the stomach for that kind of dirty dealing; but it was a quiet, almost silent part of her. The rest of her felt viciously pleased that _he_ was the one unnerved by _her._ Who was the predator _now?_ “I’m only going to ask you one more time. How many bunnies?”

He frowned down at her. “Calm down already, I told you it was just a trick. You’re overreacting, Carrots-”

“Don’t call me Carrots,” she shrieked, surprising even herself. The sound fell heavily around them, and Judy refused to look around to see who had heard it.

She focused on Nick’s face, which went from irritated to confused to something dangerous — something like sympathy. “Okay, Detective. You’re the boss. Where do you want to go from here?”

“I…” She couldn’t think. She stepped away and still couldn’t think. She’d never been _the boss_ before, despite being technically in charge quite a bit. “I don’t know.”

“May I make a suggestion?” At her nod, he jerked his thumb at the door. “Let’s go get a couple of coffees, and then I’ll show you where I go when I need a s — when I need to think.”

“Yeah,” she said blankly. “Okay.”

She followed again, silent, trying not to awfulize about what might have made _Nick Wilde_ need a safe space.

* * *

In the end, a freezing, heavy rainstorm (which they wouldn’t have been surprised by if either of them had bothered to check the weather) prevented them from going to Fisher’s Creek, the place Nick swore by, so Judy texted Félinia, her downstairs neighbor, to ask if they could come to her place. Out of all the places in Zootopia, Judy’s own apartment was the place she felt safest, but for some reason, it didn’t feel safe to bring Nick back there, and Fay’s apartment was Judy’s second safest place.

Of course, Fay had agreed immediately. How much of that had been Fay’s desire to meet Nick and how much of it was Fay’s naturally nurturing temperament, Judy wasn’t sure, but she was grateful for the offer of a couch and a warm towel.

“Thanks for letting us come over, Fay,” she said gratefully, carefully jumping up to take a seat on the couch. “This is Nick Wilde, my — my friend.”

The lavender tea from the coffee shop _was_ making her feel better. She was less jittery, for one thing, and she felt more solid, like the world was real again. That was good. She wouldn’t be able to get through this next conversation feeling like she had felt at Sporeheel’s office. When she turned around to pull her warm, fluffy, tiger-sized towel around her shoulders, she saw Fay give Nick a threatening scowl and heard her say, “It’s nice to meet you, _Nick Wilde._ I’ll be in my room with my headphones on to give you two some privacy, but I’ll hear if someone yells. Understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Nick squeaked, frozen in place halfway to the couch. “It’s nice to meet you too?”

“Don’t tease him, Fay,” Judy scolded.

“Who’s teasing?” Fay nodded at them. “Let me know if you want the washer; I have some laundry to do tonight. Seems silly for you to pay for a load when your entire wardrobe can fit _in_ one of mine.”

“Thanks, but we’re good,” Judy replied.

“Have a nice talk.”

Fay retreated, and once she was out of the living room, Nick regained his ability to move. He jumped up on the couch as well and draped his towel over his lap, leaning against the armrest opposite Judy. For a long moment, they stared at each other, and then Judy asked, “How do you know the DA, Nick?”

He looked like he was about to protest, but he closed his mouth with an audible tooth click, breathed in through his nose, and nodded. “Okay. I can go first. Before he was the DA, or even an adult, he was a Junior Ranger Scout. Do you know what that is?”

She shook her head.

“It’s kind of a social group. They do service projects sometimes, but mostly they learn survivalist skills and earn badges, like the fire-starting badge. Only boys can join, but that’s really the only official qualification, and that’s what my little nine-year-old heart was set on. I was gonna be a Junior Ranger Scout. My mom...heh.” He gave her a bashful little smile. “We weren’t exactly well-off, but she scrounged up what she could and bought me a uniform and everything. I was _so_ excited, and the Scoutmaster was really nice, and the first couple of meetings went really well, so I thought that was my chance: I could make friends. You have to understand, foxes are kind of...not very well-liked.”

“I had noticed,” she admitted.

He laughed, and it sounded slightly bitter. “It’s hard to miss. Nobody likes to talk about ancient times, but foxes have stories; predators hate us because we were small omnivores, preyed on by larger mammals, so we allied with prey during the First Agreements — it was a good decision, there were more of them than there were of predators, and that alliance made them _strong —_ and it got better for a long time, but supposedly, foxes were the origin of the mange crisis back in the 80’s. Prey hate us because of that, and because we were still predators in ancient times, so a lot of prey species think foxes are just waiting to stab them in the back as soon as predators _decide_ to turn savage. It’s stupid. But I didn’t know any of that back then, and honestly, neither did any of the other boys; all _I_ knew was that the troop was all prey, and they seemed like a fun group of guys. So when they invited me back to the building after the Scoutmaster left, the third meeting I went to, I didn’t question why they wanted to do a special initiation.”

Judy’s stomach dropped. She knew where this was going. Nick’s expression didn’t change much, though, as he twirled a finger in the air and continued, “Back then, Jamie was just a child, but he had that way with words that an attorney needs. He got the others riled up, convinced them I was a threat. He, ah...he had the others hold me down while they forced a muzzle on me. Told me there was no way they’d ever trust a fox without one.”

“I’m sorry, Nick,” she said quietly. Her heart hurt for him. “That had to be terrifying.”

“I guess it was,” he acknowledged. “I got him back, though. He got a girl pregnant when they were both 17, and now their kit’s that age, but about five years ago he was just a little boy who got mixed up with a bad crowd. I didn’t know him from Robin, but I did know I couldn’t just sit there while some kit got killed for seeing something he shouldn’t have, so I got him out of there, and Jamie’s owed me ever since. I know his secrets; I watched him grow from a mean child to a mean adult. I watched him cheat his way into everything he wanted way ahead of schedule at others’ expense, and I watched him slowly forget to pretend he’s not corrupt. Going to the press with that story, and the story about his son, would ruin his marriage and ruin him professionally — not because it’s any worse than anyone else in politics, but because this is a progressivist province, and Zoo County is one of the most progressivist counties in Animalia. Nobody wants a piece of shit DA when that’s the image we’re trying to maintain.”

“I understand,” she told him, because she _did._ She had seen the damage a smear campaign could do, even to an innocent mammal. “Nick, I...that shouldn’t have happened to you. They shouldn’t have done that. Nobody should…”

He gave her a look she couldn’t decipher, but didn’t like. “I’m not the only one carrying something around. What _was_ that? Evolution, and _language,_ and — Hopps, it sounded like you were talking about…”

“It sounded like we were talking about slavery.”

“Yeah.” His claws dug into the styrofoam cup of coffee, like they had after that Arctic vixen had called Judy a snack. “But that’s impossible. I would have heard. It would have been huge news, breaking up a giant trafficking ring — on the front page of every paper, on the internet — but it was like Sporeheel said, bunnies hardly existed until they allowed you to immigrate here en masse. Or, I guess...maybe that’s not the truth. I never questioned it.”

She shifted, uncomfortable even under the soft towel. Focusing on the warmth of the tea in her paws helped, but not very much. “It wasn’t a giant trafficking ring. I was a slave because _all_ bunnies were slaves until 1999. We weren’t classified as sentient beings — just pets. Toys. _Things.”_

There. She’d said it out loud. She still couldn’t look at Nick, but he sounded distressed when he answered, “I...I called you a _stuffed animal._ Why didn’t you _say_ anything? You made that court case sound like a land ownership dispute!”

“I didn’t consider that you might not know until recently,” she admitted, and then everything came pouring out in a great rush of words and half-formed ideas before she could stop it. “I mean...I lived it. I remember growing up terrified that one day my owner Mr. Woolston,  _owner,_  like that was _normal_ or  _okay,_ would decide he didn’t feel like being charitable anymore. I remember being told that no matter what, bunnies are strong enough to settle for whatever we can get, and back then it was something to take pride in, even though other species thought it was beneath them. I remember every comment, _every single one,_ about how gifted I was _for a bunny._ I remember feeling so special because of the praise and at the same time being so insulted at the implication that bunnies are stupid by nature. I was just constantly told _bunnies don’t do that,_ and _bunnies can’t do that,_ and I was _so excited_ when the federal government finally decided that _yes, bunnies can._ How could all those things be hidden? How does that even _work?_ Why was _Fleetfoot_ reduced to an example of a technicality? You’re right: I _did_ explain the case to you that way, because I assumed you already had the context to understand the, the _gravity_ of the decision. I didn’t know you didn’t know there really are mammals who look at me and just see a thing. Or they look at me and see food. Because before we were pets, back in the 50’s, that’s what they used us for. Meat, we were just meat. If Mr. Woolston hadn’t rescued my parents, I never would have been born.

“And it’s...I’m not...so many other bunnies had it worse than I did, but it’s _hard,_ Nick. Mayor Lionheart was my sponsor — it’s this stupid condition of my work citizenship here in the city, I have to have a sponsor _or_ get myself off provisional status at the ZPD to qualify for full citizenship, even though I was _born_ here in Animalia, it’s like they don’t _want_ us to leave the farms — but anyway, I need to close this case because I need to get off provisional status. There’s never been a case like mine; usually bunnies just get jobs doing manual labor or gardening or cleaning or something, or as sex workers because bunnies are a popular fetish, and they just either stay underground or they get their citizenship within a year when their bosses sign the paperwork, and maybe I should have done that first, but I was _so excited._ But District Chief Bogo _hates me,_ and there are mammals like Sporeheel who think that the hiring incentives aren’t necessary, just extra privileges — but it isn’t true. I did my time at the academy, I graduated top of my class, and they still never would have hired me if the Mayor hadn’t made them! Bunnies still aren’t equal, they just pretend we are on paper, and...and Zootopia is my _home._ My _life_ hinges on the whims of this guy who hates me. Sometimes there are days when all I want to do is scream until my eyes burst, but I just have to smile and keep going, because I should just get over it. It’s my job to just not let all this bigotry get under my skin — feel free to insert your favorite apologetics here, I’ve heard them all, the most common one is self-righteous jerks telling me if I know that prejudices aren’t true then nothing should bother me — and if I try to defend myself? Oh, I’m just emotionally unstable. Like all bunnies are.”

Her rant hung between them as Judy swallowed the rest with difficulty. It was all anger, just more trash-talk about mammals in positions of power looking at her like _she_ was the problem, but Nick knew exactly what she was talking about. If she allowed herself to start in on that, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop. When she looked up to see Nick’s expression, he looked genuinely ill. Judy felt a little bad, but she wasn’t sure why; was it really her responsibility to shield his feelings? She was the one who’d lived under threat of being sold. He just hadn’t known. But it wouldn’t have taken much effort to do a little Zoogling, he simply hadn’t cared to learn about rabbits. That wasn’t her fault, it was his. She wedged herself into the corner and curled up into a little ball with her tea resting on her knees, hiding her face behind the cup. The towel shifted with her to cover the back of her head, and like that, she didn’t feel so exposed while she waited for Nick to say something.

“I thought…” He put one paw over his eyes and sighed. “When I met you, I hated you _so much._ You were insufferable. It felt like you thought you were better than me. You were smug, bright-eyed...just a day or two into your job, just this tiny prey mammal who thought she could take my job away from me. I knew about the special protections, but not about the rest, and it never occurred to me to find out why you’re a protected-class species. I have just resented you since we met. You don’t — you don’t ever show anything. You seem so positive all the time. It was so easy to take for granted that you just got everything you wanted. How are you not burning this country to the ground?”

The question was awkward, because the answer contradicted everything she’d said, but she answered anyway, because it...felt really good to be talking about it. She had never actually talked about the small details that made her furious, only kept it locked away, because she’d only wanted to focus on what she was about to tell Nick. “I _do_ have almost everything I want. I have a place to live, I have friends, and I have a lot of freedom here. I’d like to be a real citizen so I can go back to Baniburrah and visit my family — I’ve been worried about that, I’m not sure I’d be allowed back in if I left, so I’ve only talked to them on the phone for the past three years — and I’d like to be taken seriously, but other than that? Ever since I was a kit, I’ve wanted to make the world a better place. There are a lot of problems within the ZPD, I know that, but I get letters from kits all the time who look up to me. I’m the first bunny detective, and that means something. It means bunnies can do anything we want. We’re more than pets. We’re more than farmers. I’m not saying life isn’t hard; it is. But it’s hard because I have the privilege of inspiring other bunnies to try. If I let it take over my brain, where would that gratitude go?”

“Hopefully in the garbage where it belongs,” Nick retorted spitefully. He seemed to be shivering, and he didn’t remove his paw to look at her. “Hopps — Judy _—_ you shouldn’t have to be grateful for having had the chance to _earn_ what the rest of us get for free. That’s something my mom used to say about foxes being at the bottom of the heap, and I never understood it until now.”

It felt like absolution.

Her anger, validated. Her thoughts about inequality, confirmed. She knew she was too optimistic, detrimentally so sometimes, and there were times when her positivity went to war with reality. Some part of her knew, and had always known, that she would never be good enough for mammals like Bogo; that her species would always be a point against her, that the mammals in power would always see her as almost-equal-but-not-quite. It was written into the fabric of modern society. Bunnies had a very specific box they were supposed to live in, and Judy had stepped out of that box with panache. She’d ruffled too many feathers, including District Chief Bogo’s, and she hadn’t allowed herself to acknowledge that until now.

“Nobody’s ever said that to me before,” she confessed, almost at a whisper. She looked down at her tea, just in case he looked at her. “I’m not sure what to do with it.”

“Just...keep it in mind.”

When she dared to look at him again, after a quiet moment staring at her now-empty cup, he was looking at her, and their eyes connected. It felt uncomfortably intimate, but because of that, she was suddenly _keenly_ aware that she had basic needs that weren’t getting met. Of her associates, she had two real friends: Fru-Fru, who was so tiny Judy worried about breaking her, and Fay, who was so large she worried about breaking Judy. Her work friends were large, too, and in a work atmosphere, nothing less than professionalism was acceptable. She had her stuffed animals, of course, but Judy had spent three years being slowly touch-starved, only a pawshake or a friendly nudge or an accidental brush against a stranger sustaining her. The little interactions with Nick had been more casual contact than she’d had since she’d moved to Zootopia; no wonder she always tensed up when he had his paws on her or his arm around her, she’d forgotten what casual touch _felt_ like. It hurt. But what was the harm in asking?

“Nick?”

His voice was sad. “What is it?”

“This is going to sound really strange, but...would you...um.” She felt stupid. “Hold me? For a little while? Just even a hug, or-”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, leaning over to set his empty cup on the floor.

She did the same, and then scrambled over to his side of the couch, bringing her towel along. He opened his arms and she awkwardly threw herself into them. The towel settled over them like a blanket, and Nick smelled _alive,_ and the strong, steady beat of his heart and the heavy weight of his paws across her back were overwhelming. Before she knew it, she was shaking, and tears were sinking into his nice silk shirt, but thankfully, he didn’t tease. He didn’t ask, or even say anything at all. He just held her, and stroked her upper back, and silently helped her remember what it was like to not be alone.

Nick breathed her to sleep, and he was still there at 7:29 when a knock on Fay’s door woke them both up, just seconds before his alarm went off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered continuing this chapter to include the meeting with Gerald Prongs and his crew, but I figured I'll save the action for next chapter and leave this on a fluffy note. We're still on day 5 of Nick's promised 14, with 9 days left.


	8. Chapter 8

Maybe it was the excitement at the prospect of a solid lead. Maybe it was the energy from their shared nap in Félinia’s apartment. Maybe it was the endorphins from the first real hug she’d had in years. Maybe it was something else entirely. Whatever it was, Judy felt more present and ready to go than she had in  _ months,  _ and that was good, since she was walking into a snake pit.

DA Sporeheel had written down an address, signed his name, and as a crude joke, advised Judy to “wear something sexy for the clientele.” As a statement of defiance, Judy was wearing a form-fitting pair of black leggings that sparkled in dim lighting and had transformed one of her red ribbed tank tops into what amounted to a bustier — let him try to chase her off! She wouldn’t be intimidated by the same kind of trash she had fought against in college, the same kind of casual bigot who got away with stuff by virtue of his privilege. 

Nick was against it. But he wasn’t in charge of her.

Snarlbucks in paw and dressed in board shorts and a light blue version of his usual Tommy Bapawma, Nick kind of looked...out of place in the dimly-lit, but otherwise upper-scale bar. He looked like he belonged on a beach somewhere holding some kind of mixed drink, not consorting with criminals. Gerald Prongs was no joke; according to Grizzoli, who  _ was  _ allowed to answer her texted queries about this fellow, he was a deer who  _ should  _ have a rap sheet for miles. He was just...too slick to catch. There was always some explanation, some other mammal who could take the fall.

(Judy thought DA Sporeheel probably had something to do with that, though it wouldn't make much sense; what clearance he had, if any, was a question for after he was no longer useful. She couldn’t wait to take  _ him  _ down, the lying, bullying piece of overboiled cabbage.)

The thing that made Prongs dangerous was that he wasn’t anywhere near Mr. Big’s level; he was inelegant, violent, but self-important. Mr. Big had a code of ethics that he religiously enforced within his own ranks, but Prongs did not, and his erratic behavior kept him from being predictable to detectives in major crimes. Nobody was even sure if Gerald Prongs was this deer’s real name; after all, Prongs was the second most common name for deer in the  _ world,  _ and Gerald was a bland, common, cross-species name. For all anyone knew, it was simply an assumed title that he used to keep anyone from finding him.

Thankfully, Judy had a backup plan. Nobody would ask why she had a carrot-shaped novelty pen hanging off her beltloop like a charm.

Judy had never been to a nice place like this before. She  _ had  _ been to a bar before, but never without Bucky and Pronk, and never dressed so...visibly. The smaller mammals actually looked at her for a change when she walked in, a smile on her face and a sway in her hips, and it — well, it felt nice. She didn’t feel so small. Maybe it was silly, but she felt important, like she could give commands and mammals would follow them just because they wanted to. She could see why a bunny might choose sex work. It wasn’t for her, because she didn’t think she could do much to make the world a better place, but she could see the appeal in holding power in her paws like that. Nobody looked at her like this at work. Mostly nobody looked at her at all.

Gerald Prongs was immediately recognizable; a buck deer of about 55, he still had an impressive rack, a slick, paw-tailored suit, and a table to himself. Most of the mammals in the room had their eyes on him in some way, either through turning their ears in his direction or actually looking at him, and he seemed completely comfortable being the center of attention. These were  _ his  _ mammals, or if they weren’t, they knew not to get in his way. 

His light brown eyes honed in on Judy just moments after she swayed through the door. She tried to copy Nick’s ability to  _ ooze  _ confidence as she led him by his tie to Prongs’ table, sort of near the bar but not exactly up against it, and instead of trying to be taken seriously sitting in a chair far too large for her, Judy just jumped up and perched on the surface of the table, allowing her feet to dangle over the edge and making herself otherwise comfortable. Prongs blinked, looked between her and Nick, who was calmly climbing up onto the chair by Judy’s perch, and raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “This is the important hooker Jamie sent me? Some bunny and  _ Nick Wilde?  _ I didn’t realize he was planning to send a circus act.”

“Hey, now,” said Nick easily. Apparently, Sporeheel had decided to use Nick’s cover story instead of explaining the truth. Maybe telling the truth would be just as dangerous for Sporeheel as it would be for a detective. Nick grinned with all of his teeth at the deer, who was much bigger than both of them. “She might be as flexible as an acrobat, but trust me, the circus ain’t got nothing on my dear, sweet Dahlia.”

“You don’t get to talk, Wilde,” Prongs said. “This deal’s between me and the goods, isn’t that right, bunny?”

Judy nodded firmly, although she was  _ really  _ not okay with being called goods. Getting information was more important than how she was feeling. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Prongs.”

Nick sighed dramatically, spreading out his paws again. “Well, I can see when I’m not wanted.”

“Can you, though? Can you  _ really?” _

“You don’t have to leave, Nick,” Judy said, but what she really meant was  _ please don’t.  _ She turned her head to look directly at Prongs. “I asked him to come here with me because I think he’s amusing. You and I can talk. I hear you’ve got some small mammals who need company, and I have some unexpected time on my paws.”

This could work. Judy wasn’t exactly knowledgeable about sex work, but she knew enough to come up with some terms and conditions. She could either work Kat into the conversation naturally, maybe ask about whether or not there were mammals who might come in from the outside or mammals who might see her...or she could “come clean” and confess to working elsewhere. All she knew was that, while she could see the appeal in having power, she didn’t want to go undercover  _ as  _ a sex worker. She needed information  _ tonight,  _ not sometime down the line, and while she was willing to make some sacrifices in the pursuit of truth and justice, that seemed like an unnecessary compromise of her safety. Yeah, faking coming clean was probably the easiest.

“You’re not wrong about the smalls needing some stress relief,” he acknowledged with a nod. He gestured to the bartender, a friendly-looking vixen whose dress was more straps than fabric. “What made you come to me, though? More importantly, how did you know to go to Jamie Sporeheel?”

This was a risky move, but Judy decided it was worth the risk and said quietly, “I did some freelance work with him. He wasn’t exactly adventurous, but he was one of those males who gets talky after, and when I confessed that I want to branch out from my agency, he told me that he knew of some folks who might be just my type.”

There. Not too revealing, a little embarrassed, but overall sure of herself, at least, Judy thought so. Prongs opened his mouth, but the vixen approached the table and asked, “What can I get ya?”

“Scotch for me,” said Prongs, because of course he did. “Neat. And for the lady, we’ll get one of your special piña coladas.”

“Change that to a blackberry martini, please,” Judy said sweetly. She didn’t intend to drink anything that any of Prongs’ mammals had touched, but she didn’t want Prongs to think she would be railroaded so easily. “Nick?”

“He’s not on my tab,” Prongs said flatly.

“Well,” said the vixen, _ “you _ can be on mine. Come with me — Nick, was it? — and tell me all about yourself.”

“What  _ the lady  _ wants, the lady shall get,” Nick said with a lick of his lips. He slid off the chair. “Why don’t you talk shop with this fella while I go immerse myself in the delights of... _ alcohol?” _

She had to put up a token protest. “Wait, Nick-”

“Later, Baby Carrots,” he tossed over his shoulder with a lazy wave. He slunk off after the vixen looking like a starving thing at a big feast, and it really did look genuine. She could believe Nick wanted that vixen. Even though their little game was going exactly as she thought it needed to go, Judy still wanted to — to do something not very nice at all. She didn’t like the feeling of being dismissed by him when just hours before he had made her feel like she wasn’t alone. What if he decided that vixen was more important? Or worse, what if he got hurt? This wasn’t a safe place for either of them. It was a literal den of thieves.

“You gotta get used to that if you’re stuck on him, Sweetheart,” Prongs advised genially, sliding her a tiny glass of water. She caught it on instinct, shook herself out of her silly worries, and pretended to take a sip, just so he would think she was playing along. He held up his own considerably larger glass and toasted her with a smirk. “Guys like that, they don’t stick around once you’re not valuable. Guys like me, well, we see our investments through until the end. That’s why I don’t think you’re a good fit for these raunchy bastards, and I won’t be mad if you don’t want to fuck my crew; I can see you’re not a follower, you’re a hunter. You’re like me, so I’ll give you some advice: you want Nick Wilde’s attention, don’t take your clothes off to make him jealous. Get your eyes real narrow — yeah, just like that — and get him addicted. Make him hurt so good he can’t stop thinking about you. He won’t love you, he doesn’t know how, but he can be lead. Not by the balls, mind you, he doesn’t have any. By the scruff of his neck.”

“I don’t want his attention,” she said coldly, angry at Prongs for a lot of reasons. She wasn’t a cop here, but she didn’t like his implications, nor did she like the way he was talking about Nick, who was worth a dozen of Prongs. She eyed Nick, who was leaning toward the vixen and absolutely  _ radiating  _ sleaze, and allowed her upper lip to curl up over her front teeth, something bunnies rarely did because their front teeth were slightly unsettling. It had the right effect here. “I want his position. I’m tired of following him around like a lost little kit, pretending I adore him and I have no idea that he’s using me. Nick is a small cog in a large machine, but I’m fine with being small as long as I get cut off in the action.”

“As long as...you mean as long as you get  _ a cut of _ the action?”

“Right.” She shrugged off her embarrassment and leaned back, showing off a long strip of her white belly. She wasn’t Detective Judy Hopps here, so none of her mistakes belonged to her. “A.C. isn’t my first language. I want what Nick has.”

“And what is that,” Prongs asked, amused, as he licked what was probably lemon residue off the rim of his glass.

She hesitated, and then told the truth. “The freedom to go where I please and do what I like. He has a network that keeps him safe. I want that. Doesn’t everyone? Isn’t that why you do what you do?”

He looked her up and down. Normally, that kind of look made her uncomfortable; it usually felt violating, and it was usually on the face of someone who was imagining her undressed. But this wasn’t even remotely close. She didn’t feel violated at all, she felt…

...Validated. Just like Nick had done, but without any emotional attachment at all.

“You’re not a prostitute,” he concluded.

Carefully, she replied, “I am what I need to be to get what I want.”

“Oh.  _ Oh.  _ You don’t have papers, do you?”

Another question she could answer honestly, and she could even be honest about how she felt about the situation as well. She bared her teeth again. “My boss, in his  _ ultimate  _ wisdom, has declined to declare me  _ worthy  _ of being a resident citizen of Zootopia.”

“Yeah, they do that,” he acknowledged. Apparently, this was old news. To an older guy with both eyes on shady dealings, she imagined he’d know better than even she would how other bunnies were treated. “Who are you really working for? No agency would take you, and you’re not seductive enough to be able to make it freelance. You’ve got the cute thing going for you, but I’ve seen cuter, and I’d guess dominatrix, but you don’t talk like one. You talk like someone who’s used to being talked over. You talk like someone who knows and acknowledges that her existence is offensive.”

“You’re gonna want to refrain from talking to me like that,” she warned in what she hoped was a mildly annoyed tone, and not something as dark as she felt.

“Oh, sure — and I don't doubt that you’ll say that to anyone except your employer, but those aren’t  _ my  _ words. It’s politics. Nobody wants you here, you’re an affront to decency. As long as you insist on reminding everyone that they casually and knowingly demammalized an entire species for profit, you won’t have anybody on your side except scumbags like me. So I ask again, who do you work for?”

She was shaken at his flat, factual delivery.  _ Affront to decency?  _ She couldn’t even say he was wrong, and that bothered her almost as much as tricking him did, but finding Kat was more important than her feelings or her ideals or anything else. “I won't sell out what might be my only chance at freedom, but from one scumbag to another, I’m stuck in what you might call corporate espionage right now. Normally, I go where I’m told to go, I do what I’m told to do, I pick up folks and drop them off in other places, I look for and find mammals who need to be found. It’s just this current job that’s killing me. No matter what my boss says, I’m a useful asset. Bunnies are so dumb — all we’re good for is food and entertainment — most of us don’t speak anything but Lapine — who cares if a bunny is in the room when they make their plans? Nobody expects a piece of furniture to listen in on them. But I feel like I’m being exploited. I meet all the requirements and more. He’s probably denying me my rights so he doesn’t have to pay me as much.”

“What rights are those,” Prongs asked. Judy bristled at his condescending tone, but didn’t reply, so he moved on. “Whatever rights you think you have, they were given to you by and through the Supreme Court and a Constitutional amendment, not the will of the voting public. At the end of the day, you’re here on charity. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re anybody’s equal; what the law giveth, the law taketh away. The system is fucked up, Sweetheart. The likes of  _ Nick Wilde  _ can’t save you from that. He’s a direct beneficiary of that system, so long as he plays both sides like the slimy little worm he is. You won’t get the same considerations if you try to do what he does.”

So this was what Nick had warned her about. If not for the DA’s stamp of approval, she and Nick would probably already be in a hole somewhere, because despite his vast network, Nick was a loner who liked to be right, and Judy was a bunny in the big city — someone who, theoretically, nobody would miss.

Prongs hated Nick the way a mammal might hate a thorn in their paw; there wasn’t malice in it, but his world would be better off without Nick in it. Nick’s breakdown of his own relative power and worth had its pitfalls: he wasn’t criminal enough to fit in with Prongs, but he wasn’t law-abiding enough to be off Prongs’ radar entirely. He was a dangerous element, because he  _ did  _ have a wide network of mammals who liked him, and Judy could see how he  _ did  _ benefit from the quirks in the system, even if the benefits came with devastating drawbacks. Everyone knew that speciesism against foxes existed, and for every time he got thrown out of a business, there were one or two instances of overcompensation, usually from smaller prey who felt guilty about their immediate distrust, but sometimes from predators too. He took advantage of that with (perhaps justified) glee. She had seen it personally. She had bought into it the first time they’d met. Did Nick even know how cushy his position was?

“I just want to find the mammal I’m looking for,” she said after a few moments. The noise level hadn’t changed, but her world seemed to be narrowed to just herself and Prongs. This was, in a way, that moment of truth novelists seemed fond of mentioning. “She’s supposed to have information on one of the corporations I’m supposed to be helping to sabotage. And maybe she’s my way out, too. If she has info on them, surely she has info on my employer. If I could get some dirt on them, then maybe…”

“Who’s the mammal you’re looking for, and why do you think I know where she is?”

“I have it on...well, not good authority, it’s actually pretty shaky authority, but I have to start somewhere, right? I intercepted a note from her written on the scented paper your cohort used to use to send messages. Her name’s Katrina Castleberry. I don’t know how my boss knew she had the information, but her friends and neighbors think she’s been kidnapped or killed.”

“I haven’t seen Kat in a few days. Last I heard, she was trying to do a story on some imaginary link between Crookwood, Incorporated and a string of missing mammals. Seeing as they finance some of my best work, I had to send her on her way,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

She tried to keep her frown at a reasonable level. “Do you know where she went?”

“She was planning to break her silly little non-story next week, but after her quick stop in the Kettle, she knew better than to tell me where she was going next,” he replied with a shake of his head, “because I respect her work, but not nearly as much as I respect my own interests. What  _ is  _ your boy doing over there? I want my drink.”

Judy looked at Nick, who seemed to be brandishing a...fish? No, it was a plastic fish. The vixen was laughing so hard her eyes were watering. Judy truly wasn’t sure she wanted to know. “If I know him well — which isn’t a given, I’m not sure anyone  _ knows  _ Nick Wilde, but I’d put money on this guess — he’s probably setting up a mean punchline she’ll realize tomorrow when he’s not in clawing distance.”

Prongs rolled his eyes. “Foxes.”

“What about them?”

“They’re weak.” He looked at her, or, really,  _ into  _ her, and she only didn’t scoot back because no look was scarier than Chief Bogo’s on a bad day. “Always the weak link. Miss Dahlia, I thank you for your company, but it’s time to get your boy and go.”

“But I…” He glowered. She nodded sharply. “Thank you for your time. I wish we could have helped each other.”

She jumped off the table and beelined toward Nick, whose ear flicked in her direction before his head turned. She put on her biggest smile and said, “Hey, honey, it’s past our bedtime. Let’s get home.”

_ “Carrots,”  _ he sighed, dragging out both syllables just a bit too long. “I was  _ this close  _ to making a new friend.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be your friend,” she said, wincing as she realized what that had sounded like. It was kind of liberating, though, to not have to assure anyone that she  _ hadn’t  _ meant it that way. She was just some random bunny, after all, not a detective who had an image to maintain. With a sneaky smile, she took a cue from Prongs. “Now stop sulking, or I’ll have to put you in time-out.”

“Oh, what a fun one you must be,” the vixen said with a smile. She leaned over, kissed Nick on the cheek, and added, “Good luck getting this one to shut his big mouth.”

“Who says I want it closed?” Judy eyed Nick, who was doing a pretty good job of looking like he’d just won a prize. She tugged on his tie. “Let’s go.”

“Nice to meet you, Eavan,” he said, and happily followed Judy all the way out the door. 

She dropped his tie when it was safe to drop the charade, but when he opened his mouth, she shushed him; she could hear Prongs’ heavy steps get closer. She pulled Nick against the wall just underneath the window so that if anyone looked outside, they wouldn’t be able to see.

“Go after them,” he said quietly, so quietly that anyone with lesser hearing wouldn’t be able to hear him at all, and Judy’s whole body went on high alert. “Kill the fox.”

“What about the bunny,” asked someone, presumably the mammal Prongs had given the order to. Not Eavan, at least.

Prongs snorted. She imagined him rolling his eyes just like he had done at the table, and was angry at herself for ever trusting a word he’d said. “It’s just a bunny. You can eat it, for all I care, or let it go back to whatever burrow it crawled out of. The fox is the real threat. Bury him so deep no one will ever find him.”

The instinct to run overrode everything else. Judy grabbed Nick’s paw and shot off into the spiral, heading toward the Avenues, ignoring Nick’s irritated noise and the tiny rock slowly embedding itself in between her toes. There were too many of them to fight, and she had her taser, but that wasn’t enough against a fully-grown deer, potentially everyone in the bar including the vixen, and whoever else might be in the vicinity who was part of Prongs’ crew. She had to protect Nick, too; she had no idea what he was capable of, and they didn’t exactly have time to sit down and strategize. No, they had to keep moving, keep out of sight—

Nick stopped, tugged on her paw, and pulled her through a tiny door she wouldn’t have noticed. The sudden sideways movement wrenched her shoulder painfully, but when she saw what the door was hiding, she dove through it and scrambled into the corner while Nick barred the door from the inside.

It was a wine cellar. Just a couple of broken bottles ensured that their scents were covered well enough to let whoever was hunting them pass over them, and she and Nick huddled together, covered in the stark scent of alcohol in near-complete darkness, waiting. For what, she didn’t know. For someone to wrench the door open and kill them? For some of those stereotypical heavy footsteps that always allowed the heroes in action movies know that the enemies had moved on? It was a pretty risky choice to hide this close to the bar they’d just come out of, but it made a lot of sense, too. The outskirts of the Nocturnal District weren’t known for their vineyards, and in fact, this one had been shut down due to some kind of unidentified poison in the soil. No one would be stupid enough to hide amongst possibly poisonous wine, unless their names were Nick Wilde and Judy Hopps. 

The only mammals who’d died had actually imbibed the wine. The growers and harvesters had all been fine, if overworked and underpaid. Nick would know this because it was useful to know. Judy knew this because she had been studying Zootopia since her childhood.

“Nick,” she said very quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Can you smell them?”

He tightened his arm around her shoulders — when had he  _ put it  _ there? — and answered, “I can only smell the wine. Which probably means that’s all anyone out there can smell, if they can smell past the door. You’d be surprised at how thick it is.”

She would be. She hadn’t exactly gotten a good look.

“And now it’s your turn,” he told her. “Who are we running from?”

He didn’t know? He hadn’t  _ heard?  _ “It...Prongs, he ordered someone to come after us. Kill you secretly, and do whatever they wanted with me.”

“Well, that’s not very polite. I’ll be writing a strongly-worded letter to the District Attorney, you see if I don’t,” he grumped.

She tried not to laugh, because it wasn’t funny, but...well, it was funny, just a little bit, and she felt good about not being dead. She put her face against his shoulder to minimize the noise, but only managed to turn a giggle into an embarrassing set of squeaks that sounded ridiculous in the darkness.

Nick did not move his arm, but he did shake along with her. She hoped he was laughing too, and not crying.

When Judy removed her face from his shirt, she had the presence of mind to ask, “If you didn’t know what we were running from, why did you follow me?”

“That’s a stupid question,” he replied in a sort of darkish tone she couldn’t read. “Why wouldn’t I?”

She didn’t have an answer, so she just hugged him back and settled in for a long wait. Prongs probably wouldn’t hunt Nick in the daylight, so they’d have to wait until morning before they could leave the cellar, but at least it wasn’t cold.

“I’m sorry I put you in danger, Nick,” she told him after some uncounted minutes of silence.

“Fluff, you didn’t put me in any danger,” he assured her. “Gerald Prongs has plenty of reasons to hate me that have nothing to do with this case. I don’t know any of his secrets, but he thinks I do, so that means I do, and  _ that  _ means I’m a threat.”

_ And you probably like it that way,  _ she didn’t say. She was beginning to see that the only ace Nick had up his sleeve was confidence. The rest was just the street hustler equivalent of glitter and showtunes.  _ Pay no attention to the fox behind the curtain… _

“He never intended to help us,” she realized. Her grip on his soft silk shirt tightened in anger. “That’s why he was so honest with me. It didn’t matter if he told me  _ all _ of his secrets. He was always planning to kill us.”

“What did you expect, exactly,” he asked.

“He just...seemed so sympathetic. He talked to me like-”  _ Like a real mammal  _ seemed too maudlin, so she amended it before she finished. “-an equal. Like he respected me. But then when he was telling his underlings to kill us, he called me an it.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Nick advised. “The only mammal Gerald Prongs respects is Gerald Prongs, and he doesn’t like anyone, up to  _ and including  _ himself. Everyone is an item on a list: asset, or liability. Assets get used. Liabilities...”

He let it hang, which was more descriptive than any description of the violence Prongs was capable of. She didn’t tell Nick that she’d heard the difference. She had been an  _ it,  _ and Nick had been a  _ he.  _ Not only was Nick probably right, but the words of a sleazy smuggler with an appetite for murder were not a great measure of social acceptance of her species. Besides, why would it matter that he’d made so much  _ sense?  _ Why would it matter that for a few blessed minutes, she hadn’t just felt validated, she’d felt  _ seen?  _ Why would it matter that — he hadn’t betrayed her, because he’d never owed her anything. He hadn’t promised her anything. He had only played with her, an  _ unknown. _

“At least he didn’t know who I was,” she said, going for a bright tone of voice. It failed, but at least she didn’t sound as sad as she felt. “That’s something we can use later, if we have to.”

“...Yeah,” he agreed blandly, resting his head atop hers. “When we’re safe, let’s compare notes. I got a little something out of Eavan.”

It was still dark, and her fur was still damp. She couldn’t see a thing, and it was going to take hours to fully scrub the wine out, but she and Nick were alive...and she now had an entire recorded conversation with the deer himself. He had been very careful not to implicate himself, but if she could get Billie Flowers to testify before the ABI that he moved deadly poison for Crookwood...or, if that didn’t work, she could get him on offering a non-sponsored deal to an undocumented bunny. It was slimy, and made her feel like a species traitor, but it was worth it, wasn’t it? To get a dangerous criminal off the streets long enough to investigate his other crimes? 

One way or another, in less than a month, Gerald Prongs was going to face his first pair of cuffs. All they had to do first was find Katrina Castleberry, and they already had a lead.

* * *

The Kettle was a market, which was somewhat disheartening, but at least the vendors weren’t going anywhere. She wanted to go there immediately after they emerged from the wine cellar. Nick had other ideas.

“We can’t go anywhere looking like this,” he said, gesturing up and down. The morning sunlight was bright and hurt her eyes after spending several hours in complete darkness, and yes, they had essentially bathed in wine. She, particularly, looked like hell, with her mildly sexy outfit rumpled and stained with unidentified fluids, smelling of fox and sweat and alcohol. With her clumped mascara and unfortunately wide eyes, all she was missing was cum crust on her cheeks and forehead to complete the stereotype.

“I know, I just…”

“You want to work the case. You always want to work the case, Hopps, even if it means blackmailing a random citizen for information or putting yourself in danger,” he snapped. He sounded genuinely angry, and he  _ looked  _ it, too. The sun was rising behind him, making him seem taller than he was, and he was already pretty tall. She tried not to take a step back, but she did anyway, and his face fell. “Look, at least take a bath. I know a place we can go. It’s safe, it’s close, it has a tub, and it even has clothes for you.”

“Where is it,” she asked warily, but she took two steps closer, just to let him know that she wasn’t scared of him.

“It’s...kind of a sanctuary. I don’t like to stay there unless I have to, because I’m not comfortable with the idea that someone might follow me, but right now it’s warranted. Come on, let’s go. It’s just a short walk.”

Judy nodded and followed Nick, wondering about Prongs’ words the night prior. Either he had been honest with her about what he’d seen in her, or he had purposely built her up to make her less likely to distrust him, but she wasn’t sure that his words had been wrong. She  _ wasn’t  _ a follower. She made her own path, shoved her way into spaces that weren’t supposed to be hers, and got what she wanted. She did, in fact, make mammals uncomfortable with her existence, her insistence on being recognized as just as good. She acted respectful toward her superiors, except when she didn’t, and her tiny, scary little secret was that she  _ didn’t  _ respect Bogo. She hadn’t respected him since he had tried to put her on parking duty, and had only been stopped by Mayor Lionheart. She feared what he could do to her if she didn’t follow his instructions, but he would never be able to force her to compromise her vision:  _ to make the world a better place. _

And she had chosen detective work as a vehicle to that somewhat nebulous destination. She was, in a newer sense of the word, a hunter. Prongs had no way to read that off of her, unless he somehow could see her inner desires or she somehow expressed it in her body language, but he still wasn’t wrong. Was that actually good? Was it  _ okay  _ for a bunny to be a hunter? Bunny equality was a very important goal in Judy’s life. If she didn’t  _ act  _ like a bunny, did it count as some kind of betrayal?

Was any of this even important, or was she just trying to keep her mind off of the fear of the night prior?

“Well, this is it,” said Nick, snapping Judy back to the real world. “Safehouse sweet safehouse.”

They were just outside of an old warehouse, obviously abandoned, that had solid doors bearing a faded sign that said  _ WILD TIMES.  _ Someone, presumably Nick, had sketched an “E” at the end of “WILD” in permanent marker. It was clear that this place meant something to Nick, but it wasn’t exactly subtle. “I’m not sure why you’re worried about someone following you here when your name is on the door.”

“You’d be surprised at how unobservant mammals are, Carrots. And besides…” He pushed the door inward with a grunt. “I’m not exactly the kind of guy who’d live in a filthy place like this. I wear  _ silk shirts.” _

That was fair.

With a small grin, she asked, “So how  _ do  _ you...manage…”

Walking through the door was like walking into a dream. The main area was still pretty filthy, as she would expect from an abandoned theme park, with rusty indoor rides and an open door leading out to a park area that held broken pieces of coasters and decrepit picnic tables, but in one corner tucked out of sight of the front windows was a perfect, gleaming piece of home. 

The greenhouse, which was in the perfect position to catch sun from the closest window and the hole in the roof, was made of old (presumably reclaimed) glass doors and caulk and what looked like pallet wood, obviously DIY, but well-built, and the plants inside were thriving. Just walking into the greenhouse put a pleasant weight on her lungs and filled her nose with the soothing scent of soil; even though she hadn’t ever been on the planting or harvesting teams and Baniburrah had felt stifling, it was the smell of home. It was the smell of safety.

Beyond the door on the other side was a room that had once probably been a maintenance room, but was now decorated to look like a bedroom, or maybe a studio like Judy’s apartment, although Nick  _ had  _ managed to rig a bathtub with a reinforced pot and a hot plate sized for megafauna. He had a giant vat above the pot and one to the side, presumably for fresh water and gray water, and although he didn’t have a bed, he  _ did  _ have a giant pile of blankets and pillows inside an oversized filing cabinet. His closet, or what passed for one, was exactly like hers: a zip-up, pop-up closet with one rack and a couple of drawers on the bottom.

“Nick, this is  _ amazing,”  _ she gushed, because it was definitely breaking some housing codes, but it was clever and managed to make use of the old things that had been left behind. “Is the greenhouse yours?”

“Built it when I was a teenager,” he replied, pointing his thumb at his chest. He moved to the side, stepped up onto a stool, and opened the drawer above his bed drawer. “I had this whole idea that I’d leave the hustler life behind and just live off the grid. Back then, though, solar power wasn’t so accessible, and the batteries to power that hot plate were expensive and hard to lug home. I check on my plants, but mostly these days they take care of themselves. I add to it every couple of years — the most recent addition was a sprinkler system. You can get used ones on sale on the Rainforest District campus at ZU for almost nothing.”

“I’m serious, Nick, this is amazing,” she marveled.

He threw some cloth at her. “Amazing for a fox?”

“No. Amazing for anyone. In my family, plant husbandry is  _ kind of  _ a big deal, but I can’t maintain a garden to save my life — and you just decided to build one. I think it’s beautiful.”

“Ha, well.” He shrugged, looking very embarrassed, and looked very intently at a spot on the wall. “I don’t think that’ll fit you perfectly, but it’s better than what you’re wearing.”

It was a blue checked sundress with weird ruffly sleeves and a sloping neck. When she held it up in front of her, she agreed that it would be too big; on a vixen, it would probably be thigh-length, but on Judy, it was calf-length, and it wasn’t going to  _ drown  _ her, but the tail hole wasn’t in the right spot. With a couple of safety pins, though, she could probably fix the sides enough to make it work. She frowned at it and looked up at Nick, who was still standing awkwardly on the stepstool. “Where did you get this?”

“I wore it for a hustle. It’s not great quality or anything, just a dress, but I don’t think anything else will fit you. Do you want the first bath? You got most of the wine, since your scent isn’t a common one in Zootopia.”

“Yes, please.”

Nick busied himself attaching a hose to the vat above the pot, and when he opened the valve, out came pure, clean water. Judy listened to the sound of the water hitting the rubbery bottom of the cooking pot and laughed at how absurd all of this was. Here she stood in the middle of a fox’s den, about to strip off her clothes and jump into a pot of hot water. Her father would probably have a heart attack.

“What’s so funny,” he asked.

“Just...thank you, Nick,” she answered, and she meant it.

“For what?”

“For trusting me. For helping me. If not for you, I would have a dead case at best, and at worst, I’d be dead.”

He turned, examined her, and shrugged again, this time looking much more confident. “You’re not the worst thing that’s happened to me. Even if this case is probably going to send me to an expensive therapist when I can afford it. Gang chases...government corruption...diabolical corporations... _your apartment..._ it’s like a bad crime drama, but I get to star in it.”

She couldn’t help but smile. That hadn’t exactly been a ringing endorsement of her character or his involvement in this case, but she decided to take it as a genuine compliment. Nick was strange and inconsistent, and that made him a little scary, but she was coming to realize that he was a good mammal. Underneath the trolling and the sensitivity, they were a lot alike. She hoped that they could move on from buddies to real friends, and after everything they had gone through in the past few days, she wouldn’t say no to another warm, strong hug or twelve…

Provided they both bathed first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to have an action scene in it, but then I thought about what I _really_ want this story to say. There will be an action scene later, but in a story where the emphasis is civil rights, police de-escalation is important, and words are weapons, I didn't think that a fight scene was appropriate right there. So I wrote it differently. I hope nobody was too disappointed.
> 
> Next up: day 6 of Nick's promised 14, and a glimpse of who they're chasing (a.k.a., their first solid lead).


	9. Chapter 9

“Nick, I need your help again,” Judy groused, tugging at her dress. The clothes she’d worn to the bar the night prior were trashed and couldn’t be salvaged, but Nick’s old sundress fit quite well after taking in the sides with safety pins, even _if_ the fix meant it was a little shorter than she had expected. The problem was the tail-hole. Judy’s tail wasn’t quite big enough to keep the fabric from sagging unattractively, and normally she wouldn’t really care, but her thong-style undies (she had made the decision not to ask Nick why he had them) meant she had to pay more attention to it.

“Okay,” he sighed, once again over-dramatizing his voice, “come with me.”

Nick led her into an out-of-the-way area at the edge of the open-air marketplace. It had a few tables and a small pagoda with differently-sized bathrooms set into it. Nick looked around quickly, unfortunately making them both look suspicious, and then entered a medium-sized one, locking the door behind them.

Judy’s nose wrinkled immediately. It didn’t smell good, and it didn’t seem to have been cleaned recently. “Nick, this is so gross.”

“Ugh, I know. Stand on that stool. We’re going to fix this once and for all,” was his annoyed reply. She thought about making him ask politely, but they were on a job; they didn’t have time to waste on arguments about politeness, and he _was_ doing her a favor. She’d get him back sometime soon — maybe by pulling him around by his tie again. It seemed to always startle him, but he never seemed to be too upset about it.

Carefully, she bent down to pull the stepstool from under the sink and stood on it, leaning forward to brace herself on the edge of the sink. He squatted down behind her, took a breath, and said, “Okay, stand really still. I don’t want to stick you, or worse, stick myself.”

It was sheer determination that kept her from jumping when he slid his left paw _up her dress_ to squeeze the edge of the tail-hole from the inside. This was normal. It was the same kind of last-minute tailoring her mother had done in her childhood, and Nick seemed to have a pretty good idea of what he was doing; with his right paw, he removed the safety pin, opened it with his mouth, and slid the pin through the fabric. At least, that was what she assumed, having seen this kind of maneuver often enough as a kit.

The back of his pinkie claw brushed her upper thigh, the part that wasn’t covered by her dress, and she sucked in a breath. He was basically touching her rear. He was being professional, just pinning her dress in a way that would hold, but with one of his paws completely up her dress and the other gently scraping her bare fur, everything felt small and narrow, and all of her senses were amplified. She wasn’t sure if she was terrified or — or _something else,_ but she tensed up and clenched her fists before she could stop herself.

“Sorry,” he murmured. She felt it roll through the thin fabric on her back.

“It’s...you didn’t hurt me,” she murmured back. At least, she thought, there was that. It had only been one claw, and it was gone now.

After a few more moments of increasingly awkward silence, Nick finally pulled the dress down and settled the top of the hole over her tail. It fit perfectly this time. She could feel his paws _hovering_ over the small of her back, but he pulled them away and told her, “That — that should hold for the rest of the day. It looks great. I mean, you look...your tail…I did a good job. I’m good at everything.”

Slowly, with a raised eyebrow and what she hoped was an amused expression, Judy turned on her toes to look at him, head cocked and ears stiff. He huffed, stood quickly, and shoved his paws into his pockets. His expression was _un_ amused when he asked, “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Nick, I can’t _believe_ you would ask me that,” she responded, pretending to be offended. “Of _course_ I’m not. What do you take me for?”

“A decent mammal?”

“I’d say letting a fox stick his paws up my skirt after only six days of knowing each other is a _little_ less than decent,” she cracked, because she knew it would lighten the mood.

“Ha-ha, hilarious. Go ahead and laugh, but just remember that without my incredible expertise, you’d still be showing your fur in the back.”

“And I thank you so very much,” she assented. He was smiling, and that was good enough. “Now let’s go find our ocelot.”

The minute they stepped out of the bathroom, they got looks. Nick didn’t seem very bothered by them, and truthfully, Judy _wasn’t_ very bothered with them, nor was she particularly bothered by the not-so-subtle whispered conversation about loose bunnies and sex work and one dumb gazelle’s passive-aggressive musing about whether Judy had a proper sponsor. She was only mildly annoyed when someone from behind her called, “Come on, little nibble, give me a taste.”

Somehow, having Nick there as an ally made her feel a little safer, even if he wasn’t always the most trustworthy. Besides, the caller was far enough away that she couldn’t even pick him out of the crowd, and these mammals were a dime a dozen. Uncreative. And, if her intel was to be believed, most of the mammals here were the lowest of the low anyway. She hardly took in the words at all; it was background noise, like a song over the crackling speakers at the Happytown Value-Save that Judy could hear in the back of her mind, but didn’t even care to place. What _did_ bother her was the very snide commentary about Nick:

_“God, that’s disgusting. Does he have to play with his food in public?”_

_“Just another pedophile getting his rocks off. Can she even consent?”_

Bunny ears were unusually keen. It was a good thing Nick hadn’t heard it, because they couldn’t afford to draw any more attention to themselves, and — maybe Nick didn’t consider her his friend, but she considered them friends regardless, and she tried to do her best to protect her friends from harm, whether it was physical threats or everyday hurts. Thankfully, once they entered the market square, everything was much louder, and they escaped notice, just two smalls amongst mostly large mammals.

An open-air market like the Kettle would never survive a Baniburrah winter, but this particular market was situated in a little nook in the Sahara; as long as everyone tore down by nighttime, nobody was much bothered no matter what time of year it was. At least, that was the theory. In practice, Judy already felt so hot that she imagined her ancient ancestors would overheat. Only three minutes after stepping out of the train, and what Judy wouldn’t give for a cool breeze on her ears! She spotted a small battery-powered fan with a small spray pump being sold at the very first stall and smiled, about to head toward it, but Nick caught her by her wrist. It took conscious effort not to twist her arm and throw him; she was pleased that he didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s a total scam,” he said, bending to say it quietly into her ear. “The fans are 30 bucks on their own, the batteries are 10, and they’ll _graciously_ sell you a bottle of water for 2.”

She frowned up at him. “How did you know…?”

He shrugged and let her wrist go, only to throw his arm over her shoulders. “The first time I came here I thought it was a real market, not a cover for criminal activity. Ah, the follies of youth and beauty.”

The disdain in his voice was obvious. She allowed him to guide her — although she wasn’t very happy about the arm around her shoulders, it made sense, especially if this was a market for criminals to meet up or whatever Nick was implying — and once they passed the vendor selling the overpriced fans, she said, “I don’t understand why you always talk like you hate criminals, but then you take pride in what you do.”

“I’m _not_ a criminal,” he said, as though theft and scamming were somehow exempt. “Look, there are strata in everything, right? Some species are worth more than others. Some careers are worth more than others. And I know you’re going to say that’s wrong, but it’s pointless to pontificate about your ideology; wrong or right, that’s just how it works. _My_ place in the hierarchy…” Without moving his arm, he circled his wrist to match his other paw, which was splayed open and facing the sky. She leaned into his side to lessen the pressure on her shoulder. “I may not be the most honest fox, but among the, let’s say, _less than upright_ folks, I’m on top, Carrots. Nothing I do is illegal, except _I guess_ stealing doilies from Honey, which doesn’t count because it’s hilarious. I don’t have to be part of a crime family or commit arrestable offenses to be protected-”

“Except from mammals like Prongs,” she countered sensibly. What an ego Nick had. That was her least favorite thing about him.

“Okay, yeah, sure.” He waved off her words with his free paw and weaved around the legs of a miserable-looking camel, who was trying to convince a vendor Judy couldn’t see to lower the price of whatever she was holding. It looked like there was a lot of haggling going on, and Judy couldn’t tell which vendors were legitimate and which were selling hot goods. “He’s a special case. I’m good at what I do — I’m talking about the information-gathering, not the hustling, though I’m no slouch there either — and I pissed him off when I refused to work for him. But even he won’t actively hunt me; last night was a case of opportunism, nothing more. Nobody cares about me when I’m not in front of them, but I have a lot of power. When I say I know everybody? I mean it. I either know them, or I know a guy who knows a guy, or I know their type. If I wanted, I could live on blackmail, but I _like_ selling Pawpsicles. It’s fun. And it’s legal.”

Whether that was grandiosity or truth, Judy wasn’t sure, but she decided to give Nick the benefit of doubt, because she didn’t really know how that sort of thing worked. She knew the value of seeing those shades of gray that some of her colleagues ignored; after all, with the deck stacked against her from the beginning, she had had to make use of them herself. And she could never forget that until 20 years prior, bunny slavery had been _legal,_ so “illegal” and “immoral” were not and never had been the same thing. Still, she didn’t see the difference between a legal hustle like Nick’s and a bootleg operation like Duke’s. Both of them _technically_ stole from businesses that could afford it, both of them took advantage of naive mammals who didn’t question where the merchandise came from, and both of them made money off someone else’s product. Furthermore, if Nick knew as many secrets as he’d intimated but never reported any of them, didn’t that make him complicit in other mammals’ crimes?

She supposed she could forgive that piece of it, for his species if nothing else. Considering how he’d been treated in Tundratown, Judy could see the hazards of turning up at a police station with information. The wrong cop might decide that he was to blame for whatever he knew. She had wrestled with her own position, wondering if her willingness to overlook shady stuff for the sake of solving bigger, more urgent cases made her a bad cop — wondering if being a detective at all made her complicit in the ugly behavior of other cops who used their badges for petty power trips — and, she realized, she didn’t have the right to judge Nick for doing exactly what she did to survive in a world built for other mammals. She had chosen the side of justice, even though it was harder than anything she’d done before. He had chosen the easy way out, sure, but maybe he was less of a hypocrite in doing so.

She _really_ had to deal with Porcino, or she had no moral high ground at all.

“If you’re so good,” she challenged anyway, because one thing she _did_ know about Nick was that the best way to get him going was to attack the pride he always pretended he didn’t have, “then tell me what we’re looking for.”

“Why don’t you tell me? _You’re_ the detective.”

She rolled her eyes and played the game. After all, she did know; she’d just wanted his input as her second pair of eyes. Her partner in crime...or stopping it, as the case may be. “Our target had to get away from Prongs pretty quickly, but she still had to stop here for some reason. From what I know of the Kettle, there are a few places you can go to get a fake ID for a pretty cheap price, so I’m keeping my eye out for them. Since there is more than one, she would want something mid-range; not the cheapest price, because that’s probably not good-quality work, and not the most expensive, because nobody smart enough to covertly tail many members of a corrupt enterprise for _two years_ would be dumb enough to think that expensive means best. So-”

“Unless that’s what she _wants_ us to think,” Nick intoned. They edged around a puddle of spit. Why were mammals so gross? There was a spit-tray a foot away!

“Sure-” Judy folded her ears back while Nick ducked a swinging tail. They had to stop again when another careless gazelle dropped a cigarette into the packed sand. “That’s true, and I was planning to question all four of them.”

Nick stopped abruptly and looked down at her, almost pushing her away, but still not letting go of her shoulder. “How do you know there are four?”

She smiled mysteriously and decided not to tell him that she had contacted both Duke Weaselton and Amanda Swift, a “missing” dik-dik Judy had once helped escape a boyfriend with sticky fingers and anger issues, while Nick had taken his own bath before their two-hour nap in his bed-drawer. “You’re not the only one who does research when there’s poison on the line. Anyway, that line of questioning assumes she came here for a new identity. There are plenty of reasons for a reporter on the run to stop in a place like this, including trying to get a sample of the...illegal goods she’s been tracking, or meeting with an informant, or...something else. I can’t think of anything, but that’s why we work in pairs. Why do _you_ think she came here?”

“My money’s on information,” he replied easily, pulling on her shoulder to get her walking again. Even though he pulled her into the shadows behind a stall, the heat was overwhelming and even Judy’s _feet_ hurt. She wished she’d had the forethought to either wrap them or ask Nick if he had any of those weird shoe things that firefighters and dancers wore, but it hadn’t even crossed her mind. “It’s true that she could have come here for a fake ID, but she has to use her real one to publish her story...although, now that I think about it, she might have to hide out if she pisses off the right mammals. So the fake ID makes sense; I still think she came here to meet with an informant, like you suggested. Through here.”

They walked side-by-side, which was getting more and more awkward the longer it went on, and Judy could hardly stand the heat anymore. When Nick pushed aside a loose part of the curtain behind a food vendor and led her out into the blistering sand, Judy stopped and pulled away. “Nick, I can’t stand this. It’s too hot to be out of the marketplace, and our information is _inside.”_

“We’re being followed,” he retorted, jerking his thumb toward the curtain they’d just come through.

“By _who?”_

“I don’t know, some hyrax. I saw him at the pagoda, and he hasn’t stepped more than five feet away from us since we left there.”

She frowned, somewhat disturbed. Nick could have said something sooner. “Do you recognize him? Does he recognize you?”

“Well, no,” he admitted, “but he called _you_ a little nibble, which is creepy enough to steer clear of.”

Judy laughed at this, which made him look irritated, but she couldn’t help it. “Nick, it’s just a power trip. They don’t usually follow anywhere when they see that it doesn’t scare whoever they’re harassing. You’ve probably heard things said about vixens — or maybe foxes in general — it’s just stupid mammals being stupid. Half of them just see other jerks do it and they copy because they want to be cool.”

“Doesn’t that bother you, though? I _hate_ it when some prick threatens to kick the crap out of an innocent fox.”

“Nick, if you’ve been assaulted-”

“Not me,” he assured her. His fists were clenched, though, and she wasn’t sure she believed him. She _really_ wanted to go back inside, where it was marginally cooler, but she didn’t want to interrupt him, either. After he had listened to her stupid baggage at an inopportune time, she owed the same to him. “But other foxes have the absolute gall to be their best selves in public, and it bothers mammals who think we’re all shifty, worthless pieces of trash when some of us are just nice, innocent sartors who also have to work in big-chain bookstores to get by. I didn’t believe it could happen to prey. It’s still hard to believe what you told me.”

It bothered her on multiple levels that some part of _her friend_ still couldn’t believe she had been born a slave, but he was trying to keep an open mind, at least. Paradigm shifts were hard; she had been shocked to find out that foxes were somehow on the lower rungs of society in the big city, when the Greys had been one of the wealthiest families in Baniburrah, and Marian and Ethan had acted like they owned the place, much to the consternation of everyone else. Judy had had plenty of time to process it, though, and Nick was still…

...Still what? A large part of her heart rebelled at forgiving him for not believing her experience, but a larger part wanted to be his friend — and, as always, the positive side won.

“It happens, whether we like it or not,” she said gently, and tugged on his tie to get him to follow her back through the curtain. He stumbled again, which made her grin. Ha. She’d gotten him back. “Isn’t that what you just said a few minutes ago? It should change. It’s not right, it’s not fair, and it shouldn’t be tolerated. It’s just that there’s a time and place to be mad about it. The middle of an investigation isn’t it. I’ve heard worse, anyway, and from mammals who might _actually_ have eaten me back when it was legal.”

There wasn’t a hyrax in sight.

Their first destination was a scruffy-looking weasel, Duke’s big brother Earl, whose criminal inclinations were much more ambitious. He was a forger, apparently a very good one, but there was no love lost between the two weasels, and Duke had been happy to sell him out to a cop for the sheer joy of giving his brother trouble. While Nick mulled over her (admittedly harsh, but factually correct) statement, she lead the way through the crowded Kettle a little further.

Earl Weaselton, set up at a small table with a spiral notebook and a fountain pen next to him, wore the same style of tank top that Duke was known for, but he seemed less wiry than his brother. His expression was a little gentler, too; despite his scruffiness, he seemed like the kind of mammal you should trust, and in a place like this — in conjunction with Duke’s obvious hatred for Earl — that set off alarm bells in Judy’s head. She would have to take whatever he said with a grain of salt.

“Well, hel-lo, sweet thing,” he said immediately upon their approach. He graciously didn’t notice Judy rolling her eyes, something she had been doing too much for her own good recently. One of these times her eyes were going to roll right out of her face. “Lemme guess, you need citizenship papers.”

“I...yes,” she said, seizing the opportunity to gather some information and sliding into the lisping accent she had tried so hard to train out. Thankfully, all she had to do was make sure her nose was twitching a lot, and she didn’t even have to try to force fear into her voice. The twitching was really just a physiological response to physical stimuli, but almost everyone else read it as a fear response. It came in handy when she had to be a little tricky. “I have a job, but my sponsor doesn’t want my boss to sign off. She says I’m not ready to be on my own yet. I want out.” Nick’s sudden laser focus was somewhat unsettling, but she just assumed he was acquiring new information, so she ignored him. “How much does it cost to get the right kind of papers?”

“Depends.” He leaned back in his chair, clasping his paws across his belly. “There’s just the papers signed by some birdshit fake company, which I can do for 50 bucks, but usually that only works for bunnies who aren’t sponsored by some bigshot. You can’t file papers your sponsor hasn’t approved. There’s our medium package which I can do for 200; I get you a new identity and some fake sponsorship papers that you can take around to find a new employer. Or there’s a deluxe package. You get a new identity, a planted sponsor and a planted employer who’ve already signed off on your citizenship, and a money-back guarantee, all for 600 bucks.”

“How is she supposed to get her money back if she’s shipped off to Podunk,” Nick asked aggressively.

Judy was startled, but quickly recovered. She put her paw on Nick’s arm and murmured, “It’s okay, Nick, it’s just business.”

 _She_ thought it was funny that it was the opposite of their usual roles. Nick didn’t seem to agree, but before he could respond, Earl laughed. “Ain’t my problem, fox. What are you, her boyfriend? Is that even allowed?” His eyes narrowed and he focused on Judy’s face. “I don’t make a habit of doing business with slave traders. Is this what _you_ want, or are you just being forced to be a lap-warmer?”

Of all the derogatory terms for bunnies, that one was the one Judy hated the most. It sounded sexual, but it wasn’t; instead, it referred to emotional support rabbits, the ones who had been trained to hold very still and show affection to their owners, following basic commands and allowing constant invasion of their personal space. The owners loved petting them and cuddling with them and touching them in places they didn’t like to be touched, like their dewlaps and their paws, and usually held the bunnies in their laps.

A lot of emotional support bunnies hadn’t been able to extricate themselves from their former owners after bunnies finally gained freedom, because they had gotten too attached. Some of them were so attached that they succumbed to that ancient instinct to just lay down and die after losing their “companions.” It was horrible, and Judy knew that if Mr. Woolston hadn’t been kind to her family, she would have started _that_ training at age three, including getting “fixed” and being isolated from other rabbits to avoid any accidental companion bonding. Her fur was very soft, she had big, pretty eyes, and her ears were unusually long, which was a little unattractive to other rabbits but a desirable quality in a pet.

Again, she pushed away the desire to ask _why._ She didn’t have time, and it wasn’t like Earl would have answers for her anyway.

“I’m just a guy who wants to make sure my best friend doesn’t get hosed by some two-bit hustler,” Nick shot back. Judy tried not to smile. He really was good at knowing what to say to sell a part. Judy was pretty good at thinking on her feet, but she was more action-oriented than anything; Nick was a born salesmammal.

“Like you can talk. I know your type,” Earl replied, but he didn’t look too bothered. “Listen, Bunny, time is money, and you’re wasting my time if you don’t have cash. What’s it gonna be?”

For a stark moment, Judy wondered if she could get away with it. If she could come back to the Kettle and become a new bunny should Chief Bogo decide not to hold up his end of the deal. But she didn’t have to _now,_ and hopefully, she never would. With her cutest, prettiest smile, she asked, “How do I know you’re not just yanking my ears? When’s the last time you did work? I don’t see a computer…”

“Y’ain’t dumb, I’ll give you that.” Earl winked at her. It made her skin crawl, and Nick put his arm around her shoulders again. “My last project was just a couple days ago, as a matter of fact, and that’s another reason I want you to clear out. My client’s gonna be here any minute, and she’s shy. And unlike you, _she’s_ committed.”

“I think we’re going to check the prices elsewhere,” Nick said stiffly, and Judy nodded. He hadn’t actually said anything out loud about the case, but they were probably on the same page: Earl’s next client _might_ be Kat. “C’mon, Dahlia, let’s find someone a little less...ah, smelly.”

They scurried away, disregarding Earl’s annoyed grumbling, and found a little slot to hide in while they waited. In an open-air market like this one, there weren’t exactly corners or large potted plants, but there were enough vendors that if they hid close to a large food stall, they could practically look like part of the scenery, and the food would cover up their scent. Judy kept her eyes trained on Earl, waited…

Waited…

Waited…

She squeaked when _Katrina Castleberry,_ in the fur, showed herself, looking confident in some loose street-clothes. When she dug her wallet out of a little pouch attached to her hip, she looked awfully suspicious, and Judy wasn’t surprised when Nick nudged her and said, “There’s no way we just got lucky.”

“A lead is a lead,” she shot back. It probably wasn’t safe to corner Kat in the market, but if they followed her, then they could catch her in a more isolated area. “We’ll talk to her when there are less mammals around.”

“Okay,” he said, sounding highly skeptical. Well, he was allowed. It wasn’t like they had another choice, was it? She dug out her phone and took a few photos of Kat, just in case she had to go back to Chief Bogo before they actually caught Kat. It wasn’t a lot of evidence, but it was a little.

After Earl gave Kat a big envelope he’d pulled out of the bag by his chair, Kat gave him a friendly wave and left the way she’d come. Without speaking, Judy and Nick moved at the same time, close together but not touching, ducking tails and hiding behind stalls as appropriate. For all that she was supposed to be on the run, Kat didn’t seem to be hiding. Of course, that was one of the best ways to not get found — just pretend you belonged there all along — but Judy wasn’t so sure she could manage it when her life and livelihood were in danger, like Kat’s were.

They followed the ocelot through the market the way they’d come, past the pagoda, and toward the train station, where thankfully Judy would find a little heat relief through the localized breeze made by the solar-powered industrial fans. Judy’s danger sense went off when Kat turned down a little alley, but Judy followed silently, paw on her taser…

...and immediately put her paws up in a conciliatory gesture. Nick growled angrily, and even though the majority of Judy’s brain was focused on _not getting shot,_ she felt the fur on the back of her neck puff out at the sound.

Kat was standing with both feet planted firmly on the ground, a gun-like object grasped in her paws and pointed directly at Judy. Oh. _Oh,_ she recognized what that was. She’d wanted one for the longest time, after all.

“Stop following me,” said the ocelot, narrowing her eyes. “Do you think I don’t have as many eyes in the city as you do? I’m warning you, Detective, walk away.”

“It’s okay, Ms. Castleberry,” Judy replied, inching forward and extending one paw. “We know who you’re hiding from. It’s just my job to find you and keep you safe-”

“Who told you that, your _Chief?_ He’s in bed with them. All government stooges are,” Kat scoffed.

Judy nodded rapidly. It was better to let Kat think she was on board, since...in a way, Judy did agree with her. “I know. It’s my professional job to find you, Ms. Castleberry. It’s my self-appointed job to keep you safe. Okay? I’m not going to turn you in. I don’t need to tell _you_ how dangerous the mammals you’re hiding from are. They’re funded, they have government contracts, all the things they do are technically legal... _I know._ Just let me keep you safe while the ABI-”

Kat laughed, and it was not a pleasant sound. Judy stepped back involuntarily, which left Nick somewhat unguarded beside her. “You think the ABI will get anywhere? When it’s just another corporate trash heap that makes their weapons? Trust me, if they go after Crookwood, then they have to go after all the rest of the corrupt dumpster fires in this country, and you know it’s _always_ money over mammals in Animalia. You’d think a _bunny_ would be more aware of that.”

“Okay,” said Nick gently. He looked calm enough, but Judy could hear his heart racing. She stepped forward again, just in case Kat decided to attack. “We know all of that, Kat — can I call you Kat? — because we’re looking into them on our own. The Detective here could lose her job if anyone knew. The ABI is useful for providing distractions. You’re a reporter; do you really think you’ll just break your story and suddenly change the system? Do you _really_ think that you’ll get back what you’ve lost if you piss off a bunch of money-grubbing corporatists by exposing them?”

“I-I think I’ll expose a threat,” Kat replied uncertainly. She pointed her gun at Nick. “Stay back, fox. I don’t want to hurt either of you, but I will, if you make me.”

“We know about the Death Caps,” Judy offered. One step forward, one step closer to Nick. “We just don’t know what they’re _doing_ with them yet. Why don’t you work with us? Maybe the ABI is useless, but I can probably get in contact with INTERPOL.”

 _“I said stay back,”_ Kat shrieked, and Judy heard the telltale hiss of the gun about to discharge. Thinking quickly, she shouldered Nick out of the way. He was a civilian, basically a _bystander;_ if anyone had to shoulder the consequences of this case, it should be Judy.

And shoulder them she did.

It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Her body was supposed to spring into action, but she _couldn’t;_ there was nothing but pain, and her legs wanted to run, but they collapsed, and pain shot up her arms when she fell directly onto some broken glass. Nick was shouting something, or he wasn’t, and Kat was shouting something, or she wasn’t, and Judy wasn’t dying but she also was, and she saw _white—_

And then she saw Nick. His eyes were wild, and he seemed not to know what to do with his paws, but when Judy saw Kat fleeing down the alley, her own body wouldn’t respond to the need to jump up and follow.

“Where’s the bullet,” Nick asked frantically. “Where did she hit you?”

“Not that kind of gun,” she managed to say, shaking as she pushed herself into a better sitting position. She wasn’t in pain anymore, but the adrenaline rush from fear... _that_ was going to take longer to shrug off, and so was the pain from the broken glass. She took a few deep breaths and tried not to think about the implications of _modified shock pistols_ being accessible on the black market. “She shouldn’t have that. It’s a military-grade weapon even without the modifications. Works with microwaves to cause a pain response that stops immediately after the gun stops shooting, and it has no real lasting side effects — they developed it into a paw-held device so that soldiers could stop mammals from throwing their exploding babies, maybe save the kits.” Was it just her, or did everything sound far away? It was important to continue explaining the gun, wasn’t it? Yes. That was the most important thing. “It’s restricted to deployed troops, though; not even cops can have them, because if you arm mammals with devices that cause untraceable pain, there’s too much potential for abuse. It was first conceptualized in-”

Shocking her into silence, Nick leaned forward, put his arms around her, and squeezed her tight. With his nose at her neck, he murmured, “I’m glad you’re not really shot. I thought…”

“Y-yeah.”

Just six days ago, she would have been terrified to have _Nick Wilde’s_ teeth at her pulse point, but now…she knew without a doubt that he had been ready to use those teeth to defend her against a potential threat with an unknown weapon. This was more than a hustle, and probably more than a chance at protection from jerks on the force, too. It was okay if he didn’t say they were friends. She knew they were.

* * *

Wild Times wasn’t any more secure than Judy’s apartment, but they decided to go there anyway. For one thing, it was _bigger,_ and for another, it was _quieter._ It also smelled better because of the greenhouse, and their nap had showed that the drawer-bed was big enough for them both to curl up comfortably on either end to sleep. Judy was glad that Nick had invited her back instead of dropping her completely. After the scene in the alley earlier, he would have been more than entitled to do so, and she still would have followed through on her end of their deal.

She frowned down at her phone, somewhat confused at the information her father had sent her. Or, well, she assumed it had been her father; he could have dictated it to one of his more tech-savvy kits. She only knew it wasn’t her mother, who would rather gnaw her own thumbs off than use text messages.

Gideon Grey wanted to call her. There was a big part of her that wanted him to. A bigger part of her knew that she couldn’t afford the distraction. She had just gotten _shot_ today; not by a bullet gun, true, but it could have been, had Kat gotten hold of one of those instead. If she reconnected with her childhood friend, after a lifetime of baggage, with her life and livelihood hanging over her head...would she end up getting hurt, or miss something because she was texting him all the time?

No...once she earned her citizenship for real, she would take some of her leave time and visit. They could reconnect in person.

 _Tell him I’ll see him when I come to visit next month,_ she texted her father as she heard Nick come through the door.

From what she could see from her position in Nick’s file cabinet, he hadn’t exactly gone _all-out_ at the convenience store, but he did have three bags full of stuff. He stopped at the entrance, looked at her with an unreadable expression, and then moved forward to place the bags on a much larger stepstool that he apparently used as a table. He knelt down and removed the items silently, stacking them to the side.

He had been very, _very_ quiet ever since they’d left the Sahara station.

“Nick,” she said carefully, unsure of how to broach that topic. “Are you okay?”

“Am I — am _I_ okay?” He looked up at her and blinked, something like irritation in his expression. “I’m not the one who got shot. I’m just the one who stood there and watched it happen.”

“You didn’t just stand there, Nick, I pushed you,” she told him. Was that all? It wasn’t like she’d acquired any lasting damage from the gun.

He scowled, scooped up a couple of packaged items, and came closer to her, stepping into the drawer as he did so. He made sure to keep his feet on the little strip that separated the blankets from the drawer edge, where Judy had placed her own feet; most mammals washed their feet before they went to bed, but Nick was pretty strict about not allowing any dirt on his blankets. She supposed it was probably harder for him to get his bedding to a laundromat.

“You shouldn’t have pushed me,” he said finally, reaching for her paw. She gave it to him when she realized he’d brought some cleaning solution and a pair of tweezers. This was going to hurt.

She winced when he sprayed the solution on her small wounds. Most of the glass had just fallen off, but not all of it, and she braced herself for the painful sensations ahead. “I only saw two options, Nick. I could let you get shot, run at her, either restrain her or tase her, and arrest her, _or_ I could push you out of the way. But a shock pistol isn’t like a bullet gun. She could just as easily have pointed it at me while I was running for her, and then we _both_ would have gotten hurt. I’ve seen desperate mammals, Nick. I went for the option that would keep at least one of us on our feet.”

She gritted her teeth as the small metal tweezers finally gripped one of the little shards of glass. He huffed out a breath. “It sucks you don’t have pawpads. This would be so much easier if I could see what I’m doing. Carrots, you...do you have any idea what it looked like? You just went down, you were _screaming,_ like — I’ve never heard anything like it.”

“I have heard rabbit screams are pretty terrible,” she acknowledged.

His claws clasped around her paw tightly, but he relaxed almost immediately and searched her fur for shards again. His eyes were intensely focused and his ears were wide and flat. “It wasn’t because you’re a rabbit. I’ve never heard _anyone_ scream like that. You know, I...I always knew that torture existed, and that some mammals I know and associate with are the type to do it. I’m not naive. I’ve known mammals who died, and I’ve seen some pretty terrible stuff go down from afar. But I could always shrug it off before. It’s like when someone dies offscreen: you recognize you’re supposed to be sad, because everyone else is, but it’s not real. This was real. I thought you were dying. And she was just standing there with this look on her face, just...no remorse at all, and _now_ it makes sense, but I thought I’d just witnessed a cold-blooded zoicide. I don’t want you to _die_ for me.”

“I didn’t, Nick,” she said quietly, putting her paw on his wrist and trying to catch his eye. He was, frustratingly, trying to avoid looking at her directly, so she reached up to touch his cheek instead. Once she’d established contact, she said, “It was a bad idea to follow her, not knowing enough about her, but I recognized the kind of gun. I thought I could talk her down because she had chosen a nonlethal when she probably could have gotten a lethal weapon for less money. Still, I’ve been a detective for _three years._ I know by now that sometimes the best thing to do is run. If she’d had a gun that shot bullets, we would have run. I trained for two years, but you didn’t. It’s my job to keep you safe, too.”

“Well...don’t do it again,” he grumbled, and went back to picking for glass.

He was sweet. Very obnoxious, but she had to admit there was an appeal in that. Around Nick, she didn’t have to be bright and upbeat and everything that everyone expected from Judy Hopps. She watched him go over her paw carefully and made a promise to herself that he wouldn’t ever have to do this again if she could help it.

“I’ve been texting my parents about death caps,” she told him eventually, mostly to stave off the pain but also to keep his mind off of what he’d seen. “All I really knew about them is that they’re poisonous, and that α-amanitin is being studied as a possible component in treating cancer, but I had no idea they don’t grow in labs. They just can’t, for some reason. So it makes sense to try to spread spores outdoors and hire disposable workers to collect the toadstools-”

“If you’re a monster,” Nick pointed out. He switched to her other paw, which had less glass in it.

“Well, yes, but that’s a given.” Judy gestured at the greenhouse behind him. “Even in a nice little place like that, the mycelium won’t fruit. And they’re not parasitic, so it’s not likely that crop sabotage would be Crookwood’s goal, and they don’t really do anything to the soil they grow in. They’re only poisonous if you _eat_ them. So we have lots of crates of _Amanita phalloides_ coming in, and a relatively small crop popping up. Kat noticed that in her notes, and maybe she knew the significance, but maybe she didn’t. From a purely objective standpoint — disregarding the fact that they’re obviously doing _other_ shady stuff — is it _possible_ that all they’re really doing here is trying to get their own crop so they can study α-amanitin for cancer patients?”

Nick blew out a breath and closed his eyes, dropping the tweezers, reaching up to tug on his own headfur a little. She knew the feeling. She didn’t want to entertain the idea that this was a dead story, that Kat had done two years of research for nothing, that a noble venture could be a noble venture even if it were performed by a corrupt organization. But she was a detective, and it was her job to go where the evidence took her, not assume things that made her feel good.

“Possible? Sure,” he acknowledged tersely, cracking open the package of gauze, “but likely? That’s the real question you’re asking. I’m inclined to say no, but I can’t tell you whether that’s because it _isn’t_ likely or because I just hate Crookwood. I do think it’s weird that aside from the folder in the archives, there hasn’t been any chatter about St. Raphael doing cancer research. You’d think they’d welcome good press. Trust me, Carrots, the only reason for a too-big-to-fail corporation to hide something like that is if it’s going to hurt someone.”

“I guess you’re right. I just can’t guess at what they _are_ doing. I wish Kat would have talked to us,” she admitted, frustrated. She watched him wrap her paws with neat efficiency and wasn’t sure how to ask where he’d learned it.

“I think at this point, we’re stuck until Honey gets back to us.” He picked up the leftovers from their little first aid session and jerked his head toward the table. “I brought food. It’s not gourmet, but it’s better than frozen carrots. Would you join me in a dinner of gross packaged things from the convenience store?”

“You sure know how to charm a girl,” she cracked, fluttering her eyelashes. Below the sarcasm, though, she kind of _was_ charmed. He could have left her. He could have asked to go back to her place. But here he was, patching her up, offering her food. “I accept. And while we eat, let’s talk about the best way I can use the photos and recordings I have so far. And what I can do about Porcino.”

“You mean what _we_ can do,” he said. He sounded casual enough, but he was looking at her with a strange expression.

Well, she could play off him now, so she asked sweetly, “What’s with all this _we_ stuff?”

It was good to hear him laugh, after the day they’d had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now it's established that Nick's a sweetie when he's not actively being an asshole. Are you SO SURPRISED or what? There will be some time-skips going forward; it would be unreasonable, after all, to have like 60+ chapters of this length just detailing what they do when they're waiting around for information or whatever. Also, I got the idea for the shock pistol from the Active Denial System, which is basically a Giant Beam of Fucking Pain. In my universe, they refined it into a handheld device that has a pretty straight shot rather than a wide range. 
> 
> Anyway, stay tuned for a break in the case, and an explanation of just why the hell Judy isn't going into the station every day. Worldbuilding is fun.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of an interlude before part 2 of their investigation, which will not be very much like part 1. Don't worry, though; next chapter, we get a look at Zootopian bunnies (finally!).

It was day 8 of Nick’s promised 14, and Judy was going a little stir-crazy. The day she’d gotten shot with Kat’s shock pistol, they’d stayed together and carefully slept on each end of Nick’s bed drawer, but it would have been silly to think they could just...spend all their time together. Nick had some form of work, or work-ish, and Judy had laundry and shopping, and…

All right, she missed him. Or, maybe she just missed having someone her size casually touch her, which sounded pathetic when she thought about it, but it wasn’t like she was curling up on her bed angsting about it. Well, she _had_ curled up on her bed for a while, but only because she was trying to _sleep._ It was day 8 of Nick’s promised 14, day 10 of her investigation, and if she didn’t start sleeping regularly again, it would cause health problems. That was the last thing she needed at a time like this.

The schedule requirements for detectives varied depending on what kind of work they did. All detectives, regardless of department, were required to be _on call_ on a set schedule — Judy’s schedule was usually four-on, three-off, six-on, one-off — but if they were working active cases, they didn’t need to go into the station every day. Instead, if they didn’t report to the station in person, they were required to keep their hourlies recorded and submit detailed reports three times per week. Often, detectives would be working several cases at once, and they might only be seen once per week unless called in for something specific. Judy had never been called in for extra cases. She usually decided to attribute it to her provisional status.

This was the longest she’d ever been away from the station. As a rule, she and her colleagues liked to go in and write up reports, get information, and learn from the other detectives, even while working active cases. But since Judy had no resources and couldn’t even access the server without her own credentials, it had hardly seemed worth it. Still, there was the Porcino thing to deal with, and maybe she could talk someone in cold cases into letting her look up suspected poisonings. And she wanted to make good on her half-promise to Kat to get in touch with INTERPOL. All she had to do was talk to the right mammal.

“Hey, Clawhauser,” she said brightly, beaming up at her colleague. So many officers overlooked him, because dispatch was a menial job, desk work for an overweight cheetah with a somewhat gentle personality. Judy didn’t think of him that way anymore, partly because she knew what it was like to be overlooked and partly because she knew the kind of mammal he really was behind the cheer and forgetfulness.

“Hey, Hopps, good to see you,” he replied. He waved a little. “How’s the big case coming along?”

“I got some pretty good leads, but nothing solid yet.” She wouldn’t mention the photos for now. With Kat in so much danger, and with Chief Bogo likely to keep to the letter of the law, pass the case onto the ABI, and write Kat off as collateral damage, Judy planned to hold them back for as long as possible; if she couldn’t find her ocelot again and convince her to accept protection, she might be able to request some more time if she provided evidence that Kat was on the run and not missing. Since shock pistols didn’t leave any damage visible to the naked eye or medical instruments, she had nothing to document there, either. She jumped up into his stall in the lobby and sat in a little space out of the way of his immediate work area. In a low tone, she leaned forward and said, “I actually had a favor to ask you. Do you still have contacts in INTERPOL?”

Clawhauser, who had been sipping his whipped-cream-something-sweet-triple-whatever frappé, coughed and nearly spat out what had once been perfectly good coffee. He only managed to hold it in by putting his paws over his mouth. Once he was able to swallow, he breathed deeply and asked in a stage-whisper, “How did you know!?”

She tried not to droop. She hadn’t realized that it was supposed to be a secret. “I’m sorry, Clawhauser. I heard you talking to Special Agent Fangworthy at the end of the Duckworth case. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but my ears…”

“Oh, gosh, don’t feel bad, you just surprised me,” he assured her with a swift wave of his paws. His voice lowered. “It’s not exactly classified, but the Chief doesn’t want it getting around. How much did you hear?”

“I only heard him ask you if you ever planned to go back to the AIA, and I pieced together the rest when you were talking about _the mutual friend_ at INTERPOL. I haven’t told anyone, I promise. I just ask because…”

This was a risk. Clawhauser knew how to keep secrets. According to what she’d managed to piece together from that overheard conversation, he’d worked for the Animalia Bureau of Investigation with Fangworthy for a little while before going on to be a field agent for the Animalia Intelligence Agency for some unknown amount of time. After that, he had either decided, or been forced, to resign from his position with the AIA, and now worked dispatch for the ZPD. Telling Clawhauser the whole truth and asking him to keep it secret was _theoretically_ a good idea, but she knew that for some reason he really liked the District Chief, and in a battle of loyalty, she knew that she would lose. But she doubted he would help her if she didn’t give him a reason at all.

“Hopps? Are you...thinking of applying?”

A way out! He looked so understanding. Out of anyone, he seemed to like her most, even more than Rivers, who was nice enough but kept a friendly distance from all of her coworkers and still sometimes said some mean things about certain species when she wasn’t watching her language. Could Judy bring herself to lie, though?

She slumped. “I’ve thought about it — I could probably do a better job in Furrance where bunnies were first, you know — but I love Zootopia and I love being so close to my family. I’m not planning to apply to INTERPOL except as a last resort, but I stubbled onto some information that I think might be an international issue. First I need to verify it, but I’d like to at least have a contact in case the information turns out to be big.”

“Hopps,” he said seriously, frowning, “what have you gotten yourself into?”

If she couldn’t lie and she couldn’t tell the truth, she could only borrow from Nick and Porcino and Mayor Bellwether and manipulate the facts. “I don’t know if I _should_ tell you, Clawhauser. What if they’re already aware of it and it’s classified or something? I don’t want to put your job in danger just because I’m doing mine.”

The silence was harsh and heavy. He looked her over, as though just watching her would get her to crack, and in another circumstance, before she’d been a detective, it might have. Judy wasn’t fond of dishonesty; it felt slimy, and she usually held herself to a higher standard. But she wasn’t the upstanding paragon of virtue that many mammals assumed she was because of her bright eyes and vocal dedication to making the world a better place. If she had to fight dirty, she would. She always had. If lying was the right thing to do, she would. If near-falsehoods would save Kat’s life, she’d take the personal hit.

“I might be able to get you in touch with Director Michaud if you give me a few days,” he said carefully, not meeting her eyes. The potted plant he was looking at didn’t seem to be at all special, and she felt guilty for lying. He probably knew. Before she could sabotage herself by apologizing, he brightened and asked, “Oh, did you know that Gazelle’s hosting a concert here again next year? We have to go. Last time we missed it, but this time…”

“It’s a promise,” she said warmly. Clawhauser was the most die-hard Gazelle fan she’d ever met, and she’d been listening to the so-called Angel with Horns since childhood; they weren’t exactly close friends, but that was definitely a bonding point. And even if she got shipped back to Baniburrah in defeat, she’d still be able to get a pass into the city, as long as she didn’t stay for more than a few days.

But she _would_ close this case, and she _would_ protect Kat. That was what had to happen, and Judy Hopps didn’t give up.

* * *

She met Nick at the old Starstrike Station in the Nocturnal District on the eleventh day of her investigation. He was in _yet another_ pale Tommy Bapawma shirt, his usual slant-stripe tie hanging at a slightly crooked angle while he leaned back with one foot against the pole of a planted umbrella, scrolling through something on his phone. Judy took a moment to look him up and down; he looked fine, not scared or anything, and his heartbeat was steady. She felt silly for checking him over. It wasn’t her job to make sure he was healthy, and he had her number now, so if anyone had tried to harass him again, she would know.

“Hey, Nick,” she said brightly as she approached. No use scaring him by popping up unexpectedly.

“Carrots,” he greeted. “Did you find the key?”

“It was a treasure hunt, but I managed.” She dug a small locker key out of her pocket and held it up for him to see. “She sent me a sudoku puzzle and a crossword, then a text message with some clues, and it took me all morning to go through all the possible places.”

They were, of course, talking about Madge’s weird way of getting them information. Apparently, all Judy needed to do was open a locker — Judy wasn’t sure which one, so she’d have to try _all_ of them — and get the information manually. Whether it was a flashdrive or actual paper files, Judy didn’t know.

Nick watched curiously as Judy began trying each lock. When she got to the third locker on the first row, he asked, “Have you managed to figure anything out in the past couple of days?”

“Sadly, no,” she replied with a shake of her head. Another lock, another failure. “I did go into the station and work for a while, and Wolfard let me use his logins to look through the traffic cameras again, but the Chief wouldn’t even give me a small job to do while I wait for information.”

He laughed, but it didn’t sound very jovial. “The more I hear about this guy, the less I like him.”

“I think he’s just being cautious,” she defended halfheartedly. “He thinks I’m going to get eaten by-”

She stopped. It had been insulting to her when Bogo had said it, but until now, she hadn’t thought of what his attitude said about foxes, and maybe even predators in general. Had he _meant_ to make it seem like he thought predators just couldn’t control themselves in the presence of prey they used to be able to legally eat as recently as the late-50’s? That didn’t seem right; he got along just fine with the predators at the ZPD.

“A fox,” Nick finished unnecessarily.

“Yeah, I don’t know what’s more insulting about that — the implication that I’m too weak to take care of myself, or the implication that you’re too weak to deny yourself a delicious bunny meal.” She pumped her fist and briefly celebrated when a locker finally clicked open. “He even said, basically word-for-word, that having me on the team was a bad idea because a fox might _go savage_ in the street and eat me.”

“Well, that’s not speciesist at all,” Nick commented. She couldn’t tell from his tone what he was thinking, but her eyes were locked on the first page of the stack of papers Madge had left for them. “What’d you find, Carrots?”

“Court cases,” she said grimly. “Variations on a theme. Our ocelot was researching precedence, all right — every single one of these cases are examples of successful suits against large corporations. But if Madge’s interpretation is right, these aren’t just successful suits.”

Nick stepped close and put his head next to hers so he could see the page, too. Judy thought about pushing him off, but decided she didn’t want to make a fuss, not now that he liked her and they were getting along so well. After a few moments of silence, he said, “I think I see what you mean. These are all game changers. There’s the McDuck’s coffee case...the car seat case...I don’t know what this means.”

“Neither do I, but maybe if we can figure it out…”

He looked over at her, turning his head very slightly. “Do you really think retracing her steps is going to help you catch her? She knows you’re looking.”

“No, I don’t.” She shrugged and let Nick take the papers so she could step away and close the locker. “I just think that the more we know about how and why she got wherever she _is,_ the better chance we have to predict where she’ll _be.”_

He frowned down at the papers in his paw. She tried not to stare like a creep. “This isn’t a buddy cop movie or one of those detective ride-alongs. You’re not a profiler. Your entire plan hinges on this data being useful, and being able to predict Castleberry’s movements.”

“And without my plan, we’re just giving up,” she replied calmly, trying not to take it personally. Nick was... _probably_ not trying to be rude. “She needs help, Nick. And I _know_ I’m not doing my job right now. I’m investigating classified things and going off protocol to help someone who hasn’t been kidnapped. She’s missing by choice and she’s allowed to be, but how can I look in the mirror and not _hate_ myself if I step back and don’t try? You don’t have to help me if you don’t want to — I’ve put you in enough danger as it is — but I can’t just do nothing.”

“I’m not...I won’t just abandon you, Fluff, I promised you a month and you’ll get it.”

She blinked and looked at him out of the corner of her eye, not sure how to take that. “You promised me two weeks.”

Nick rolled his eyes, closed the folder, and shook his head. With a pointless sweep of his arm, he said, “I remember very clearly telling you I’d give you a month. You need to get your memory checked.”

She refused to allow her ears to droop, because he wasn’t being a jerk. He _wasn’t._ It wasn’t like the week after Mayor Lionheart’s murder, when then-Assistant Mayor Bellwether had tried to convince Judy that the public just needed a little more _time_ to get used to the idea of bunny equality before they addressed the remaining inequalities, and had tried to make Judy feel crazy for calling out intense anti-predator rhetoric. It wasn’t _anything_ like that. He was probably just too embarrassed to admit that he had decided to help her longer than he had promised. He seemed like the type to be uncomfortable appearing to be warm and fuzzy.

“Right,” she murmured, “I must have heard it wrong.”

(They were friends. Friends didn’t gaslight friends. It was just a joke. It was okay. Really. She wasn’t hurt at all.)

“I’d invite you back to my place, but I don’t like to stay there very often so I don’t lose it,” he continued on with a shrug. She was glad he hadn’t noticed her brief dip in mood. It was important to stay positive, especially in such a negative job, or else she would be susceptible to the cynicism she refused to believe was inevitable for all detectives. “Is your place still safe?”

“We look out for each other.” She pulled out her phone and brought up Zoogle Maps. “Just let me find directions-”

“Nah. I’ll teach you a few tricks about Zootopia. Three years is too long to not know about the small mammal routes. Winds as my witness, you’ll be able to navigate this place _without_ GPS by the end of this case.”

“Okay,” she said with a light laugh, and put her phone back into her pocket.

Nick put his arm around her shoulders again. It was strange; she was hyper-aware of him, of his warmth and especially his claws, and she enjoyed the opportunity to not be all alone, but she still felt uneasy when he smiled with all of his teeth. It reminded her of Ethan and her sister Rose, even though she knew logically that Nick wasn’t like that. He was almost the exact opposite. She hadn’t been able to get it to stick in her gut yet, but she’d get there, she was sure of it. And even through all of that, the discomfort and the vague annoyance of having her space invaded without permission, it felt nice to be touched.

As he guided her out of the train station, Nick gestured toward the alleyway. “They tell you not to go down these, but some of them have tunnels for smalls to get through an area without having to go all the way around a block made for megafauna. See that mark there on the bricks? It’s too low for maintenance crews to notice, but it’s a sign letting mammals like you and me know that there’s a tunnel in the back. It can save as much as thirty minutes of walking for smalls. That symbol — SS~> — means that on the other side of this is the _new_ Starstrike Station. If it were, say, Tundratown East Station, it would say TES~>. You know the signs that say _Grazers_ and _Chompers?”_

“Yes,” she said hesitantly. She was worried about where he was going.

“Well, some larger mammals — most of them, actually — think they’re gang signs. Really, they’re warnings. When you see the words side-by-side, the building it’s on is an equal-opportunity establishment and won’t kick anyone out unless they break the rules. If it only says Grazers, it’s prey-only. If it only says Chompers, it’s predator-only. If it has a species silhouette, it’s a safe place for that species, and if it has a species silhouette with a line through it, then you know it’s not safe for that species to go there. Pretty useful when the patrons these businesses are built for could probably kill mammals our size with a kick to the head.”

“That doesn’t happen often,” she pointed out. “I’d know.”

“Sure, it doesn’t happen often. It used to, middle of last century. Then we started warning each other, and it stopped. C’mon, this way, I’ll show you some of the other signals we leave for each other.”

Judy allowed him to pull her along, listening carefully to his tips. Zootopia had been built for big mammals, not small ones, and that was why it was so hard to navigate. But with tricks made by and for small mammals, even if they left fences loose at the bottom or were technically graffiti, maybe soon she’d be getting around just like a born Zootopian.

* * *

Another late night should have probably called for delivery, or at least takeout, but all Judy had to offer Nick for dinner was a frozen dinner, some dried cranberries, and a plum that needed to be eaten as soon as possible. She was _almost_ embarrassed by the state of her mini-fridge, until she remembered that Nick had already seen and judged her state of affairs. The veggie pot pies, her last two dinners, didn’t have many calories, but they _did_ have lots of added protein, which was why Judy liked to buy them. Well, that, and she could get them three for a buck at the Value-Save.

While they ate, sitting side by side on her bed with their backs against the wall and the paperwork spread out in front of them, Judy read over the extra information Madge had passed on about Kat, things that the ZPD databases, Nick’s network, or even her close friends might not know. For example, Kat’s bank accounts had been inactive for over a week — unsurprising, especially since the last withdrawals from each had totalled nearly $8,000 — but if she didn’t have her cell phone on her, _someone_ had it, and was carrying it around the city every day. It seemed strange that calling the number hadn’t been anyone’s first choice of contact, including Judy’s own. Once she had learned that Kat was being pursued by agents of a corporation that had government contracts it had been obvious that calling her would be bad, just in case the phone had been taken...but nobody had known that until recently, right?

She had to remember that the case had been pushed aside until she had taken it because _she was provisional._ She wasn’t supposed to have access to the information she had. District Chief Bogo was relying on her to do what he, and the other detectives, couldn’t. Whatever mistakes they had made prior to her assignment were probably necessary. The only one who needed to be a better detective was Judy.

“Do you think we should try to call Kat,” Judy mused, not really asking the question, although it was phrased like one. She tried to take a bite of her pot pie, but she got distracted by a little note scratched in pen in the margin of Kat’s phone records that said _NOT HAVENA._

Kat’s phone wasn’t even in the province anymore? Weird. Even with no criminal experience, Judy knew easier ways to get rid of cell phones.

“No,” he replied immediately with a shake of his head. He pointed at the page that Judy hadn’t gone through in detail yet. “She’s using Find My cPhone several times a day. Whoever has her phone, she’s tracking them.”

Judy frowned and picked up her own cell phone. “Find My cPhone?”

“Yeah, it’s an app. You can use it exactly as the name implies, and if you have to, you can erase your data remotely. At least, you can if you have a computer or something that’s synced to it. Haven’t you ever looked through your phone?”

“No, I hardly ever use it. I didn’t exactly grow up with cutting-edge technology. Our family computer’s still running XP. My parents have a cell phone for business, and I did take some computer classes in college, but…” She shrugged and met his baffled expression with a stern one of her own. “We grew up differently. Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not,” he assured her, waving one paw. He took a careful bite out of the plum. She tried not to think about how much tensile strength her skin had in comparison to that of the little fruit. It didn’t matter; Chief Bogo was _wrong._ Nobody just “went savage,” and Nick sure wouldn’t. If nothing else, he’d find it beneath him, and it would be detrimental to his business.

(She almost wanted him to bite her, just so she could say she’d lived through it and move on. It was that same stubborn defiance that made her unable to quit even when everyone said she should, that led her to graduate top of her class at the academy.)

“I wonder how Madge got this information,” she said.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” he advised. “It’s probably illegal, and as a cop, you need plausible deniability.”

She laughed lightly. “That’s not really how it works. I knew she was the Oracle when we spoke to her. Besides, even in business, which has less regulations than government positions like mine, a bank C.E.O. — for example — is responsible for an embezzlement scam committed in area branches even _if_ they had no knowledge of it. I signed myself up for consequences the minute I asked Fru-Fru to get me an appointment.”

“Then why did you _do_ it?”

She studied him briefly. He looked completely confused, maybe even a little outraged. She didn’t see what was so confusing about it, though. “Lots of detectives make use of informants outside the ZPD. Technically, all I did was ask Madge to give me any information she might have had on Kat Castleberry and the relevant parts of Crookwood. Not watching her do her computer thing doesn’t count as plausible deniability, but it doesn’t have to. They could try to subpoena her testimony, if they could manage to find her, but I’m allowed to protect her identity. I probably won’t see consequences because of that, but I’m prepared for it. Isn’t it more important to do the right thing than to stick to protocol?”

“I guess.” He didn’t look like he believed her. “So...you can protect my identity? Nobody has to officially know I’m helping you?”

Judy nodded, and then remembered something important. “That’s right. Speaking of protection, I’ve got something for you. Hang on.”

She reached over to her jacket, which was slung across her pillow, and pulled her wallet out of the pocket. Out of the wallet, she pulled a small card and gave it to Nick. “Congratulations on being an official CI.”

Nick’s paws gripped the card so gently she worried that it would flip out of his grasp, but his short, sharp claws kept it from going anywhere. “You registered me early?”

“I did,” she said. “You’ve done so much for me already, much more than I ever expected. After I got shot, I realized that I could get hurt at any time...and not just for this case, I could get hit by a car just as easily. It’s not fair of me to hold your protection over your head. You don’t — I meant it, Nick. If you want to walk away, you can.”

He looked between Judy and the laminated card that identified him as a “police consultant.” It had his full name on it and a string of numbers and letters that only meant anything to the sub-registry, but no other identifying information. It wasn’t exactly a badge, and Nick hadn’t been deputized or anything, but it would theoretically provide him with some safeguards. Once upon a time, “CI” had stood for “confidential informant.” These days, there were two different types of CI’s: the traditional confidential informant, and a level above that, a “civilian investigator.” Duke Weaselton and Fru-Fru were the former; Judy had registered Nick as the latter. He didn’t have any special privileges, but if he were caught in a place he shouldn’t be, he would be referred to Judy as a “supervisor” first. Porcino, or anyone who might give Nick trouble, would now have to justify their harassment to Judy personally, and she was not inclined to believe cops with a history of profiling, like the troublesome boar on the beat.

Not that she’d give Nick a free pass if he were really caught doing something illegal. She could revoke his status if he abused it. But she’d already explained how it worked; that would be a deliberate choice on his part.

“I’m not leaving you,” he said finally, pulling his own wallet out of his pants pocket. He slipped the laminated card into one of the available slots, right behind what looked like a Zootopia City Library card. He pulled it out again, looked at it, and slipped it back in. “You kept your word. Can’t let you show me up, now, can I?”

But what Judy heard was _thank you, thank you, thank you,_ so she smiled when she replied, “We couldn’t have that at all.”

While it was nice to have a new friend, Judy was still troubled about the case. Kat had her own agenda, her own reasons for tracking the activities of Crookwood that may not have been related to her determination to break a story. Perhaps it was time to look into Kat’s past. She could go into the station tomorrow, ask Clawhauser to print off all the personal information they had on the ocelot — most of what they knew, which was almost nothing, had been in the case file, but there was a _chance_ Judy had been given an incomplete file on purpose — and also look into getting a warrant to track Kat’s phone. All she had to do was say that an anonymous tip had given her Kat’s credentials, since Madge had used a disposable email address and phone number. For all Judy was supposed to know, this information had come from Kat herself, or a kidnapper who wanted to play games with the investigating detective.

It was dangerous — and maybe just plain wrong — to play with the facts like this. But there was a lot about this case that was just plain wrong. At best, the District Chief was using Judy for an unauthorized investigation into classified issues, depending on what would _actually_ qualify as plausible deniability. At worst, he was just giving her enough rope to hang herself with. Either way, what she had told Nick was the truth: doing the right thing was important, far more important than sticking to the rigid protocols that would leave Kat unprotected, collateral damage. Judy had a _conscience._

Besides, it was only for a little while longer. Once Clawhauser got in touch with INTERPOL, Judy would surely have more resources and more help. Since Crookwood was a multinational organization, INTERPOL could likely coordinate with the federal investigative task forces in other countries, if Animalia wouldn’t cooperate. But...she couldn’t see why the ABI wouldn’t cooperate. After all, if Crookwood was rotten, it was their responsibility as cops to bring it to justice. That was why she had joined the ZPD. That was why she was working so hard to close missing mammals cases before they went to the zoicide department instead.

A sudden thought struck her. “Nick, we need to change tactics.”

“To what,” he asked through another mouthful of pot pie. Yuck.

“Well, in all of my other investigations, I’ve tried really hard not to let my species affect my work. Mammals think it’s a handicap. A lot of mammals even think I didn’t earn my place in the ZPD because no bunny would ever be able to get through the training. I’ve been so focused on showing that a bunny can be just as good as anyone else, but that means I haven’t been using all the tools in my toolkit.”

Nick looked sideways at her. “What skills have you been hiding from me? Can bunnies turn invisible? Do you know some mystical Ear-Fu?”

“Hmm. _No,”_ she said with a short laugh. “But I’ve noticed that when the mammals I talk to overlook me as just another dumb bunny, they say more. I’m small, I have great hearing, and I’m…” She sighed and tried not to let her ears droop. “I’m cute. If I make my eyes bigger and pull my body tight and make my nose twitch more than it already does, mammals naturally want to help me. I’m not great at manipulating others with my words, like you are-”

“I’m honored, truly.”

“-but bunnies didn’t survive this long being confident and defiant, like I have been. We survived by being swift, hiding from those who wanted to hunt and hurt us, and when that didn’t work, using tricks to keep from being killed.”

“You don’t have to be rude,” he said, looking down and sounding hurt.

“I...what?” What was he even talking about? She wasn’t — or at least, she didn’t mean to be — ashamed of where she had come from. She was alive because her ancestors had survived by any means necessary, even if it meant doing as they were told while looking for ways to escape. Slave owners had tried to use their dedicated, exacting obedience as proof that they weren’t real mammals, but it wasn’t bunnies’ fault for protecting themselves and their families as best they could. “How is that rude?”

“I get it, some foxes ate rabbits when they shouldn’t have. That sucks. But you don’t have to rub it in. I never did, and my parents didn’t even immigrate to Animalia until the 70’s.”

She ground her teeth, took a deep breath, and let it out along with her irritation. Frith help her, he could be difficult. How could he make _any_ of that about him? How big did his ego have to be? But she had chosen to be his friend, knowing that he was a bit arrogant, knowing that he had a tendency to make things about him that actually had nothing at all to do with him. She didn’t want to pick a fight when there didn’t need to be one. “What I’m saying is, it’s time to disappear ourselves. Go underground and read the vibrations. Act like a caged bunny and play on progressivist guilt to get information about Crookwood while tracking Kat on the sly. It might be degrading to play cute, but if it helps save our ocelot, then it’s worth it, right?”

“I thought foxes were supposed to be sly,” he pointed out, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small smile Judy thought might be against his own permission.

“Well, when you get right down to it, there isn’t much difference between our species stereotypes. We’re both supposed to be dumb, illiterate, tricky, emotionally volatile…among other unflattering things.” She nudged him lightly with her elbow and felt it all the way through her arm. “I don’t have a lot of experience playing up those things, because that’s just not who I am. I don’t bow to pressure and I don’t let anyone tell me who I should be. But between the two of us, I think we can pull it out.”

“Yeah,” he said thoughtfully. His sudden focus was intense, but she refused to look away. “We can pull it off, if we both commit to it. Show me your best cute face, then.”

She widened her eyes and pulled in her shoulders, making her head seem bigger and her body seem smaller, She lowered her ears just a bit, not enough to be droopy like they got when she was sad or embarrassed, but enough to make her look timid. She focused on the twitch of her nose and looked at him as though to say _help me, Nick Wilde, you’re my only hope._

He shook his head. “Just kidding. Don’t look at me like that. It’s uncanny. You could punt me out the window, but that face still makes me want to give you twenty bucks and help you find your mom.”

“That’s why I hate it,” she replied with a deliberately watery voice.

“Stop it!”

She grinned at the image of the survival skills her species so treasured helping her further break free of the limitations, both societal and self-imposed due to fear, that her species had dealt with for so long. “Better get used to it, Slick Nick, because there’s a lot more where that came from. Now finish eating, I want to have all this information memorized as much as possible by tomorrow morning when we go to question our next contact.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not being particularly subtle here, I know, but I already put that warning in the tags. Whether Nick is being reasonable is open to your interpretation, as is how reasonable Judy's response is to Nick and other things. I hate perfect characters, like, passionately. (I know that in my other works I sometimes stray into that territory with Nick, because I want him to have all the nice things. But I'm _trying_ here. I promise.) Also? I'm not a fan of Clawhauser being shallow or just there for comic relief. I have some ideas about him that I've never written before. It'll be fun to finally get to do that here.
> 
> Anyway stay tuned for some solid answers, starting next chapter. Will we like those answers? Who knows?


	11. Chapter 11

Judy remembered proudly giving her paperwork to District Chief Bogo three years prior, answering his questions with quick precision, being so sure of herself. She had graduated top of her class at the academy. She had set a couple of records there. She was physically and mentally capable of doing that specific job, as she had trained for it. Regardless of her species, she had known from her first moment wearing a badge that she _deserved_ her spot at the ZPD, and she had assumed that meant safety — job security. Now…

Now, in an uncomfortable shed behind a chainlink fence around a construction site at the edge of the Cinnamon Forest, it was different. Judy did not feel safe, nor did she feel accomplished. She felt like a small thing in the face of a true threat. She was one face among many; bunnies lined up outside, hoping to be accepted, hoping for _opportunity_ that they would get, because the harvest team was inconsistently staffed with a high turnover rate. Part of the scam, though, was making undocumented applicants feel important about it: they were _lucky to be hired._ She was just like them today. Judy didn’t even have her badge or any nice clothing as armor; what she was wearing had been salvaged from a yard sale and made to look as nice as possible, but the oversized jeans had too many patches for it to be a style, and the shirt buttons didn’t match. According to Nick’s contact, city bunny style was something callously called “dumpster-chic,” and she wasn’t sure what was worse: the apparent systemic poverty or the fact that she hadn’t known about it.

She kind of felt petty. Who was she to complain about anything at all, when so many bunnies had it worse? Where were they all hiding? She had assumed they’d found ways to leave the city, which was easier than entering it, but if Greengrass was able to take advantage of them in such great numbers…

Mr. Hoofley, the interviewer, who was squeezed into a business suit that looked expensive (but probably wasn’t), had neat, clean wool and shiny teeth; he was clearly not involved in the harvesting job she was applying for. He didn’t have to be. Judy had been specifically accepted by the recruiter because her false identity, Dahlia Hornsby, didn’t have papers. She didn’t even have an ID. If she went missing, nobody would notice. Authorities wouldn’t even be able to identify her. In short, she was a perfect candidate for a sketchy operation like harvesting unnaturally-introduced death caps.

“I assume you have experience with farming,” the ram said, sounding bored. He and his chair took up most of the room in the plastic pop-up shack, and the rest of it, sans Judy herself, was taken up by a small interview table, upon which Judy sat.

“No, sir, only gardening” Judy replied, brushing the words along her tongue and making sure her lisps were in place. It was so strange to be using them when she had for so long been embarrassed of her accent, embarrassed enough to train it out. She couldn’t remember why it was embarrassing, though. The Chief had an accent too, and nobody made fun of _him_ for it.

“And how long have you been in Zootopia?”

“Twenty-three years, Sir.”

He leaned forward, looking intrigued. There were plenty of reasons to be, but Judy’s cop instincts pegged greed as the most likely. “And you still don’t have papers?”

Judy pulled her shoulders in and widened her eyes, just as she had done to show Nick how cute bunnies could be the day before. “My mistress did not tell me I could be free. She is now dead. I have nowhere to go.”

It was a horror story back home, and just like the story of the young vixen and the truck with high beams, Judy wasn’t sure that it had ever really happened to anyone; some part of her was still stuck believing Zootopia was the magical land of opportunity she had grown up believing it to be, and it kind of seemed like it _had_ to be an urban legend. On the other paw, if she took off the rose-tinted glasses and thought like a cop, it did sound plausible, especially with this new information about her own species’ financial affairs. The decision to grant bunnies equal rights had not gone over well with everyone, and Judy could see a worst-case scenario in which a “pet owner” might decide to break the new law. Who would question a support bunny choosing to stay? Who would be rude enough to ask if the medically-necessary bunny aide was being paid? Why would a lifelong pet, isolated from others of their kind, suddenly question their status?

“I see,” said Hoofley neutrally. “She had you do the gardening?”

Judy straightened and smiled proudly. “I did all the flowers and worms and mushrooms and weeds when my mistress’ eyes stopped working! Not like the stupid leash bunny who made me talk for him and would not let her hold him.”

“You like working, then?”

“Bunnies were bred to serve,” she said, refusing to show how much that hurt to even _pretend_ to believe. She had never expected to mimic the final traditionalist talking points — the jerks who _knew_ bunnies were sentient, who didn't even pretend to hide it, but instead argued that since so many modern species had been specially _bred to serve,_ they owed their entire existence to breeders — but here she was, pretending to be proud of it. It was to save Kat. That was all. She wasn’t a species traitor just for saying what needed to be said to get a lead.

“And you have experience with mushrooms.”

He needed to underestimate her. Think of her as simple, _dumb,_ like _all bunnies were._ “I like them. They are pretty and squishy and make the soil healthy.”

“Then,” he said with a smile, “I think I have a place for you. You’re one lucky bunny, Miss...Hornsby, that your mistress allowed you to learn marketable skills. Come back tomorrow morning, seven sharp, and my assistant will assign you to a team. You do know how to tell time, right?”

“Yes! Thank you, Sir,” she gushed, feeling the powerful need to take a shower. And wash her mouth out with soap. And kick the ram in the head. Instead, she clenched her fists as she left the makeshift office and passed the other hopefuls. He was preying on undocumented bunnies — no, apparently _preying_ was politically incorrect, he was _targeting_ undocumented bunnies — and the worst part was that some bunnies probably had no other choice. What about the ones who had been taken from their families before they could form memories? Now that she really thought about it, when they had gained freedom, where _could_ they have gone? The Tri-Burrows, where they didn’t know anyone? Arcadia, where the enclaves were insular and distrustful even of other bunnies? Most of them had no formal education, and plenty of them knew barely any language at all, whether Lapine or A.C. or whatever their former owners had spoken, and the structure of sponsorship…

She closed her eyes as she walked away from the interviewer. That thought and the questions it spawned, though omnipresent, were irrelevant next to her case, which was immediate. This was only a two-day operation at most, technically sanctioned by the Commissioner who had absently signed off on it when he had passed along her rush warrant request, and the sole purpose was to gather information to bribe Kat with. If Judy could offer intimate details for Kat’s report when INTERPOL took the case, then maybe she’d be more willing to accept protection.

Carefully, she looked both ways before she crossed the street, singing the grade-school rhyme in her head, suddenly wishing for a wild moment that she were a rhinoceros. She still wouldn't jaywalk, but she _could._ Bunnies didn't have that option. She wished she could be _any_ other species, just so that she could be herself, Judy Hopps, with no extra pressure on her shoulders to be exemplary, to pull off miracles, to be more than a bunny while still appearing to be one. It was hard, and she worried that if she failed, they’d all say _we were right all along, bunnies are just things._

Then it passed. She was proud of where she came from. She _was._ And she wasn’t going to give up just because it hurt.  

The heart of the Forest District looked nothing like a forest, although the outskirts did have a lot of trees; aside from the small copse of trees that made up the kits’ play park the locals called “Cinnamon Forest,” it looked more like a smaller, less-compact Savanna Central than anything. Nick, who Judy could see through the window of the Snarlbucks across the street from the sketchy unofficial interview location, was looking at Judy’s tablet and sipping coffee from a styrofoam cup; she hoped that he was doing as he’d promised and tracking Kat’s phone, not doing something weird like looking up porn. She didn’t want her search history to be messed up for weeks. After she entered the shop, she was about to approach the counter when she spied a small cup atop the table across from him. He’d bought her a drink! How nice of him.

“How’d it go,” he asked without looking up from the tablet when she slid into the booth across from him.

“It was...it went well,” she replied, because it _had_ gone well, even if it had been kind of painful. “Dahlia Hornsby is officially hired, beginning tomorrow.”

“Hornsby?” He looked up at her with a raised eyebrow. “That’s not a rabbit name, is it?”

She shrugged and decided not to take it personally. How would he know? Even if he’d had a chance to meet another bunny, they probably wouldn’t have talked to him, either because of language barriers or because he was a fox. “Lots of rabbits don’t have rabbit names. Some of us have no family history, or it’s just lost to time, because we were…” She decided not to finish with _whatever they said we were,_ because it was obvious that Nick felt bad when he heard about bunny troubles and she didn’t want that after all he’d done for her. She decided not to finish that thought at all. “It’s not uncommon to see bunnies take on themed names; my parents chose Hopps instead of sticking with Woolston. Ÿudeehlï is a _really_ traditional bunny name-”

“Shoo-day-sleea?”

“You can just say Judy,” she assured him with a smile. “Your cheek lisp is all wrong, and you naturally place your tongue in the wrong place to pronounce Lapine, and besides, I changed it in college. Anyway, my first name is traditional, and my surname is generic. You’ll see that in a lot of bunny families who didn’t want to keep their former names, but the ones who never got to have a family sometimes keep their, ah, _given_ names, either out of loyalty or because changing your name when you don’t have a birth certificate is a pain in the tail.”

The coffee Nick had bought for her was cooling, which was nice on her tongue, but not the burning distraction she had been looking for. Somehow, the more she said these things out loud, the more absurd they sounded. In her head, she could sort of justify it, or at least put herself in the footprints of the mammals who had owned bunnies. To a species who’d only recently regained personhood, though, names _meant_ something, and she had never thought about how unfair it was until just now. What would her name have been, had her species never been enslaved? Would rabbits have chosen to take on surnames like other species, or would she simply be Ÿudeehlï, daughter of seeds, perhaps one of the Owsla in a warren they had built for themselves?

...She didn’t even know if any of the stories were true. Maybe the Owsla had never existed. Mr. Woolston hadn't seemed to think so; he had been all for bunny rights, but even as a child, she'd never gotten the impression that he thought much of her species, just supported them out of principle. That was more common than Judy wanted to admit, even in the city.

Nick impassively watched her over the rim of his cup while he took a sip of coffee. She tried not to move. In the academy, she had been taught that fidgeting was a sign of untrustworthiness, and she wasn’t sure it was true, but she didn’t want Nick to think she was lying to him. When he set his cup down, he put his elbow on the table and leaned his cheek on his palm and asked, “You didn’t write an elaborate backstory, did you?”

“No.” She shook her head and jerked her thumb out the window at the lot across the street. “I’m not criminally experienced, but I do know that a job like that doesn’t need one. He asked me why I didn’t have papers, so I copied a story we heard a lot back home, and told him I have experience with gardening. We’re lucky you knew a guy who’s in on the recruitment scam.”

“My network _is_ vast and impressive,” he bragged, gesturing at the entire coffee shop as though it actually meant something. Even if it had meant something, it wouldn’t have meant anything _good._ Personally, Judy would have preferred to shut down the whole operation, including Nick’s contact, but that could wait until she had enough evidence to present to whoever would listen. It wasn’t her job, but it was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? She had sworn an oath to serve and protect. Maybe these bunnies were technically breaking the law by not having sponsorships, but only because they had been forced to by circumstance. It was really Hoofley who was doing wrong.

It wasn’t her job. But if she didn’t at least bring it up to someone, how could she live with herself?

She sighed. “Do you think I’m taking on too much at once? Confusing my original case with all this extra work?”

“Yes,” Nick replied bluntly, but he kept smiling, so she wasn’t sure what he thought about it. Fortunately, he deigned to clarify. “You’re supposed to be finding Castleberry, not investigating Crookwood. You could just turn in your photos of her once her story posts and wash your paws of it. If that’s not enough for ol’ Buffalo Butt, screw him. Go to the press and watch them drag him. Do I think this is all going to come back and bite you in the tail? Yes, absolutely, 100%. But…” He shrugged and sat back in his chair, paws on the table, one on each side of his coffee cup. “Your assignment is pretty nebulous. My instinct is to say this isn’t even an assignment, it’s a setup. But you’ve been a detective for three years. That’s an unreasonably long con for one tiny mark — in the grand scheme of things, you’re meaningless. It wouldn’t make sense for someone to groom you for three years and _then_ set you up to fail. So it’s possible that you’re right, and this is just a cover for you to investigate something that the rest of your colleagues can’t.”

She looked away, a little ashamed of not considering that other angle for longer than she had. Chief Bogo had said it with his own mouth: he didn’t want her in his precinct. He didn’t think she belonged. Nick was wrong about her being meaningless, but Judy didn’t matter as a mammal, she mattered as the successful face of the late Mayor’s ambition — another bitter pill to swallow — and that alone made her a worthy target. Anyone in her footprints would be. She didn’t want to think that the Chief wanted her to fail, though, because that would mean he didn’t want Kat to be found, and he had taken the same oath to serve and protect. What kind of mammal made District Chief and didn’t believe in his own oaths?

Judy considered telling Nick about her status now that Mayor Lionheart was dead, but that would require explaining sponsorship, and she hardly understood it herself. She didn’t want Nick to feel sorry for her, either. And, on the — admittedly _very_ slim — off-chance that she was _completely_ wrong about him, she didn’t want him to use it as leverage against her.

(How many times now had she been chastised by colleagues and superior officers about trying to see the best in criminals? Why did _Nick_ have to be the one to finally make it stick?)

“Tell me what you found out about Duke Weaselton,” she said instead, because that was the more important thing, and the next item to check off their list. She could examine her newly-acquired cynicism on her own time, but for now, she needed to focus. 

* * *

At six o’clock, Duke was due to show his face at a pawn shop, according to a source that Nick and Judy actually had in common. Oliver Sweet was a badger whose dealings were all completely above-board, but he ran a pub, and he heard plenty of things that he was willing to pass on in return for a rumor that he was firm friends with the bunny cop. _Protection,_ he’d said. He and Nick were both tight-lipped about how _they_ knew each other, and Judy didn’t care to pry. The possibilities ranged from “former crime buddies” to “former lovers,” and Judy was probably better off not knowing.

Apparently, for the past few days, Duke had been to ground, only poking his nose out in the evenings, and only to do minimal quiet business. No more bootlegging for the time being, which probably meant he was stealing and fencing whatever he could get his paws on during his brief excursions outside: cell phones, wallets, stuff he could grab and run off with.

Judy had suspected a setup since she’d been shot by Kat, but only that morning had she realized _Duke_ had probably been a piece of the puzzle. It seemed suspicious that Duke would sell out his brother, who would “accidentally” let Judy know that Kat was his client, who would then “accidentally” show up at the same time Judy was there and “randomly” have a weapon that would send a message without leaving marks that would lend legitimacy to her story. The only question was, had Duke been in on it from the beginning, had he been paid to send Judy in the right direction, or had he been subtly manipulated into it? Judy intended to find out by cornering him.

Savanna Central Tiger Pawn wasn’t located in Savanna Central, it wasn’t owned by tigers, and it didn’t cater to them, either. It was, however, a pawn shop in a low-tier shop strip on the border between the Savanna and the Meadowlands. In order to pawn a thing, all you needed was a name and the item. It didn’t have to be _your_ name, just _a_ name. The buyback date was basically an in-joke at places like this; after all, according to Nick…

“Everybody knows it’s pretty much all stolen goods.” He leaned over and grinned at her disgruntled expression, which she couldn’t exactly keep off her face. Even in the dim light of the alley, his bright orange floral shirt clashed horribly with his fur, and she was sure he’d say he pulled it off, but she disagreed. It looked like he had tried to sew his own fur with a floral pattern, except not exactly — and Judy filed it away as a possible taunt in case he started giving her a hard time again. “Now, don’t go in there and start arresting left and right. We’ll never find Wezzelton-”

 _“Weaselton,”_ she said tightly, mostly on principle.

“Yeah, him, whatever.” He rolled his eyes. When he placed his paw on the wall just above her head and proceeded to cross his legs and lean in, she felt very small. “His type spooks easy. He disappeared just because you talked to his brother.”

“Unless he’s gotten into something else, and he’s scared of that,” she said thoughtfully, folding her arms and leaning against the brick wall behind her. She tried to hide the defensiveness in it; Nick was just making himself comfortable. That his looming was uncomfortable to her wasn’t his fault, right? He wasn’t doing it on purpose. It was her own problem.

The wall across from them had graffiti on it, both Chompers and Grazers, but a profile of a sheep had a line through it. Huh. Sheep didn’t tend to be smalls; was it really a warning to sheep? Or...was it a warning _about_ sheep? Judy didn’t want to be thinking like this, judging on a species basis, but Madge’s paranoid ideas were getting to her a little. She shrugged it off, hoping it would pass. “Not everything is about us, you know. We’re investigating one case that has almost nothing to do with him, and he’s a small criminal in a big city.”

In a way, maybe her ego was almost as big as Nick’s, because it hurt to say that out loud. She didn’t necessarily want citizens to be afraid of her, but she didn’t want to be irrelevant, either; what she _wanted_ was to be a force for good, someone who sent truly bad mammals running and found them anyway. But there was a very good chance that Duke had gone to ground because of something completely unrelated. It wasn’t the first time in the past three years that he’d disappeared on her.

“You don’t really believe that, do you,” he asked, thankfully abandoning his position to instead lean beside her. The knot of unease in her stomach untangled.

She shrugged. “We can’t afford to, but we can’t put all our eggs on top of his basket either.”

“I have...no idea what that means,” he said flatly, “but at any rate, let’s get going. We want to be lurking comfortably before he gets in.”

Judy didn’t know how to lurk. She knew how to stand out, but lurking was antithetical to everything she had worked so hard to be. It was, she supposed, a new skill she would have to pick up sooner or later, so she pushed off the wall with a sigh and followed Nick into Tiger Pawn through the door that would have been opaque, had the glass not been covered by cardboard signs and old, ragged paper advertisements. The proprietor was a weasel — Judy assumed this was at least one of the reasons that Duke felt safe coming here — who was examining some kind of box when they walked in. He raised his eyes marginally, noted them, and looked down again. He put the box back in the display case, fingered a deck of cards, and locked the glass.

Nick quickly found a way to hide himself by browsing a rack of cork leather jackets, but Judy couldn’t lurk there, since there wasn’t enough room for them to browse separately; she chose to look at the musical instruments instead, which took her to the opposite corner, close to the register rather than close to the door. Hopefully, Duke would simply not be interested. He’d never shown any interest in music before. The proprietor said nothing to them, but if this was just a face for a shady operation, then the lack of customer service probably wasn’t out of place.

“For cripes’ sake,” Nick said from across the room. She didn’t turn around, but she did listen to him come closer, steps light and quick. She held firm when he placed his paws on her shoulders and murmured into her ear, “You stand like a cop, Carrots.”

“I _am_ a cop,” she pointed out.

“Not right now, you’re not. You’re just another shopper. Look, _relax._ Let your shoulders go forward just a little.” She allowed him to guide her into a half-slouch that, to her, felt awkward. “Good. Now tuck your hips under a little.” She did so, and he snorted. “Not that much. You don’t want to look pathetic, just...meek. Not a threat. Think about how _I_ walk. Other than when I’m actively seeking attention, do I strut all over town like a freaking peacock?”

“...No,” she realized. He just dressed like one and condescended to mammals he didn’t like.

“Because that would be stupid. You need to learn how to be okay with being overlooked. It’s a more useful tool than being respected. Maybe put your ears down against the back of your head, or at least drop them a little.”

“Why does it even matter what my ears do? Duke isn’t a bunny; he won’t know what my ears are saying. For that matter, neither are you, so you can’t be sure either.”

“True, but anyone who’s talked to you for more than five seconds knows that your ears are straight up and down when you’re at your most confident. We don’t want him to notice you yet. Confidence gets you noticed. Look, I’m not saying you _have_ to do anything, but I thought we agreed this was the best plan.”

She sighed. He was right. “I just...don’t like it. It feels wrong. I’ll work on it.”

He squeezed her shoulders gently and left, presumably to take up his old position at the coats. Judy felt his touch for a long time after he let go, though. She wasn’t sure if she should talk to him about it; on the one paw, she didn’t really like that he was just putting his paws on her willy-nilly, but on the other, it felt good to be touched, and she didn’t want him to stop completely. She didn’t have time to think about it, though, because the door bell tinkled, and in the convex security mirror on the ceiling, she saw Duke enter, right on time.

He did _not_ look good. His fur was dull, his eyes darted to and fro, and there was a stain on the white tank top he wore below his blue-and-white-striped jacket; although Duke had never been the type to obsessively groom himself, he _did_ know the value of presentation, and the stain was unusual. It looked like coffee, or maybe some kind of tea or gravy. He hadn’t been taking care of himself. It was one more point in favor of Judy’s hypothesis: he was scared of something, and that _something_ could be intimately connected to Kat. It wasn’t a sure thing, but it was a possibility. If nothing else, they needed to check it off their list.

She focused aggressively on the brass instrument in front of her. She didn’t know what it was (what was the difference between a trombone and a saxophone? Which one was the one that curled up like weird abstract art?), but she did know that it probably weighed as much as she did. It was made for mammals probably a little bigger than Nick was. Duke passed her without incident and sidled up to the counter. Once he started talking to the proprietor, Nick slipped out quietly, per their plan. It was apparently a weird trick; a mammal subconsciously registering outgoing traffic would be more comfortable doing less-than-legal business. Judy didn’t know why. It seemed counterintuitive, but then, she was thinking as a cop.

“I got a couple phones for ya,” said Duke in a quiet, furtive voice. Judy couldn’t help but contrast his salesmammal voice with Nick’s. Nick sounded like he was really excited about the essential oils he had discovered last year, where Duke sounded like he kept all his wares on the inside of a trench coat.

The proprietor snorted. “You just burn through your electronics fast, don’t you?”

“I got bills to pay,” Duke snapped. “I’ll come and get ‘em by the sell date.”

He wouldn’t. Even Judy knew that. A big part of her wanted to reach out to him and help him, but how? Financially, she was in a place where the only thing she could do was give him an inspirational speech she was hardly qualified to give. Her own job was in question, and she’d just taken on an illegitimate one for the sake of investigating something that had very little to do with her current case. Really, she was almost as shady as he was, she just did it for different reasons.

Ouch.

She kept her ears on Duke’s halfhearted negotiations and her eyes on the price tags on the musical instruments. How many of them had been stolen, and from whom? Was there a student somewhere who couldn’t go to class anymore because they’d had their instrument stolen? Was someone’s livelihood on the line because they’d looked away from their case for just a few minutes? It wasn’t like the store was selling any Strads, but it was still stolen goods. Someone somewhere was suffering the loss. Was turning a blind eye _really_ the right thing to do?

...Could she even do anything about it? The most she could do was report it. The proprietor would be able to claim, legitimately, that he didn’t know where the goods came from, or even who had pawned them. It would be a waste of everyone’s time, especially since there were plenty of places all over Zootopia to fence stolen goods. Even online marketplaces worked well for that, so long as there weren’t any identifying marks on the item in question and it wasn’t a rare item. Sometimes, it didn’t feel like she was doing very much good for the world.

(The image of Octavia Otterton’s face when Judy had found her son alive was a powerful reminder, though, of why she did what she did.)

Out of the corner of her eye, Judy saw Duke stuff a wad of cash in his pocket and slip toward the door at a slouch. She quickly joined him and said, “Duke! I’m so glad I caught you! Walk with me, Sweetie.”

“Aw, hell, no,” said Duke, but Judy was already steering him firmly with her paw out the door. The bell jingled again. As she and Nick had anticipated, Duke tried to dart into the alley, which was why Nick hadn’t strayed far.

From around the corner, Judy heard a _thump_ and a strangled cry and then Nick’s voice, which said cheerfully, “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be, Duke. Our favorite bunny cop’s just got a few questions, is all.”

“And I ain’t got any answers,” Duke responded as Judy rounded the corner. He kicked out at Nick, who had him by the collar of his jacket, but before he could get away, Nick rolled his eyes and wrapped both of his arms around Duke’s body. He hefted the weasel with only a little effort and deposited him in a megafauna-sized dumpster. “Okay, okay, _maybe_ I got answers, but I ain’t got a question!”

“Don’t worry, I have plenty of those,” Judy said, trying not to sound hesitant. She joined Nick on a sturdy wooden crate that was big enough to let them peer down at Duke. It wasn’t like he was being roughed up, not really; it was a recycle bin, not a garbage one, and it was actually better for Duke’s reputation if it looked like he was being _forced_ to talk. Still, that just felt like after-the-fact justification. She was uncomfortable with the turn this interaction had taken — not to mention a little perturbed at how easily Nick had handled Duke — but she should have known better than to assume Duke would just talk to her, or come quietly, and if there were consequences down the line, she would have to shoulder them.

Quirking an eyebrow, Judy said, “The most important thing is what made you think it was a great idea to lie to me about the Kettle?”

“I didn’t! I never lied,” Duke said indignantly.

“It’s true, he didn’t lie, he just used the truth for his own ends,” Nick pointed out.

Duke scoffed. “You would know, Wilde.”

“Okay, why did you use the truth for your own ends, then,” Judy asked before they could get into an argument.

“I didn’t know at the time. Not like anybody tells me anything. Just go here, do this, listen to that. You been good to me. I wouldn’t sell you out, Cottontail, not on purpose. Please, you gotta believe me!”

Nick glanced at her with a smirk. “Do we believe him, Boss?”

Judy felt unexpectedly warm at the term of respect. She ignored it in favor of their impromptu interrogation. “I’m not sure, Nick. He lied to us before. What’s to say he isn’t lying now?”

“No, see, you got me all wrong,” Duke babbled. He’d never been good at keeping secrets; they weren’t even doing anything to him and they already had him where they needed him. “Before, the kitty gave me a hundred bucks to call you up and point you in the right direction, but then ya called, so it was...kiss ‘n met! I was just helpin’ ya, right? You wouldn’t bust a pal for helpin, would ya?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” she admitted.

“Way I see it, you woulda caught up with her sooner or later, cos you’re the smartest cop they got up there in bull territory, I just...nudged it along. Yeah. And she promised she just wanted a meeting with ya, to give a clue all private-like. So it all works out!”

“She shot me,” Judy told him coldly, and he blanched, looking horrified. She softened. Maybe he was an opportunistic little backstabber, but he didn’t actually wish her much harm, especially after working with her for so long. “It didn’t stick, obviously, but I need you to tell me what the lady looked like and your brother’s contact information. Can you do that?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you want,” he said fervently. “Just...help me out? I can’t climb for shit.”

“You’ll get out when we get the information,” Nick said happily. Judy wondered if they had some history beyond working the same general area, or if Nick just happened to be antagonistic more often than she had previously assumed.

“Okay, well — the kitty was an ocelot. Wore a sweet little number, skirt practically an Ace bandage, gave her legs forever-"

 _“Focus,_ Duke,” she said, exasperated.

“You try pickin’ up girls when you’re me,” he shot back sullenly. “Makes ya lonely. Anyway, she was just an ocelot. No weird scars or nothing. Oh, but hey, I did get a picture!”

“Ew. That’s a blatant invasion of privacy.”

“What? No, Cottontail, she told me to take her picture. No idea why. Said it was important though, and I figured, hey, ego trip for her, eye candy for me, it all works out.”

“Text me that photo and your brother’s contact information, and we’re even,” Judy told him with a frown. This made no sense. Why would Kat leave such a long and obvious evidence trail, just to warn them off by using an illegal weapon on an officer of the law?

Duke dug in his pants pocket for his phone while Judy studied Nick, who really had been instrumental in getting her here. He looked like he wanted to be laid-back, but he was carefully not touching the edge of the dumpster. He had no problem working in a greenhouse, but he _had_ mentioned that he was the kind of guy who wore silk shirts — not the kind of guy who would willingly get dirty. She wondered how much of that was natural preference and how much of it was an affectation. Nick looked back at her and grinned, looking terribly pleased with himself, and she had to smile. As long as Nick didn’t try to throw _her_ in the garbage, he was a pretty useful guy to have around.

“Okay,” said Duke eventually, and Judy felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulled it out and glanced at the text; it wasn’t exactly a _good_ photo, more of a body shot than anything, but it did include most of Kat’s face; Duke had been nice enough to reiterate in text what he had told them, and Earl Weaselton’s contact details were just below it.

Nick’s eyebrow raised. “Should we let him go, Boss, or let him rot?”

“Don’t tease, Nick. Sorry, Duke, we just needed to get you to sit still for a second,” she replied to both of them. She jumped over the lip of the dumpster and landed beside Duke, immediately cupping her paws together. “Here, I’ll give you a boost.”

“Yeah, thanks, Bunny,” Duke muttered, putting his foot in the cup. She heaved him up and he jumped, catching Nick’s paws in time to not fall back into the trash again. As Nick helped Duke scramble out of the recycling bin, Judy looked for footholds for herself; she could make the jump if she had to, but it might be pretty graceless. She hadn’t been frequenting the gym as much as she should have.

Nothing for it. She sighed, braced herself against the back of the dumpster, and then shot to the side, bouncing off the wall of the dumpster to grab onto the lip with her paws. She pulled herself up — it was just like chin-ups from the ZPA, except harder and dirtier — and rolled off, landing on all fours in the alley. She wanted to be able to talk to Duke before he took off.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated sincerely, gesturing at the dumpster. “I promise I won’t tell anybody what you told me, on the off-chance that someone asks. It’s just...the ocelot who shot me is the one I’m supposed to find in my investigation. She’s clearly dangerous, and we think she’s _in_ danger, so every little bit of information counts.”

“Whatever,” Duke grumbled. He turned on his heel and began walking. Before he left the alley, he added, “Don’t get too relaxed with your new buddy, less ya just got him there to serve you treats.”

“H-”

Before Judy could step forward to defend Nick, he put a paw on her shoulder and shook his head, looking amused. “Don’t worry about it, Carrots, he’s jealous my hustle pays better than his.”

“But…”

“Really. Of all the mammals to be worried about in this city, _Duke Weaselton_ isn’t one of them.”

“Then...thanks. For all your help. And for...you called me Boss, like I was respectable,” she said quietly, looking up at him. She hoped that her expression conveyed gratitude, but she wasn’t sure how she could change her current expression, one of confusion, so deliberately.

He avoided her eyes, paws in his pockets, and replied, “Well, you _are_ the boss.”

“Yeah, I am. But you didn’t have to downgrade yourself in front of Duke.”

The silence was only awkward for a moment, but then Nick broke it. “So did the photo confirm our ocelot was the one who set us up?”

“Oh — right, the text!” Thankful, Judy seized the new topic and smiled brightly. “He spelled it o-s-s-i-l-o-t, but he did say that an ocelot paid him $100 to call me and tell me that Earl was the best in the fake ID business. He barely even did _that.”_

“He wouldn’t, would he?”

She frowned and followed where Duke had gone. “Why not?”

“Most cops don’t believe what someone like Weaselton has to say. You might shake him down, rough him up a little, slap some cuffs on him and let him sweat it out in a cell, but when you get right down to it, most cops just look at mammals like him — and like _me —_ like we’re liars,” Nick explained, catching up to her. This time, thankfully, he kept a respectful distance.

“But…” Could she say this? She had to, even if it made him mad. “You _are_ a liar, Nick. You’re proud of it. You brag about it.”

“And I’ve never been caught,” he returned. He paused, and then added, “Except by you. I don’t mean _mammals like me_ as in hustlers, Hopps, I mean _mammals like me_ as in foxes. You’ve seen it. And, I mean, as bad as I’ve got it, at least I’m not a weasel; to other mammals, their _species name_ is a pejorative.”

“That’s wrong of them to do, but it still doesn’t explain why he didn’t just tell me the information.”

Nick sighed, and as they walked away from the pawn shop, she waited for him to come up with an answer. “He probably knows you’re not like the rest of them, but if you _were_ any other cop? Telling you outright would make you suspicious of his motives. Making it sound like he had some vindictive agenda against his brother, on the other paw...that makes him sound exactly as shady as he is, and a little extra for good measure.”

“I don’t get it,” she said flatly, rounding the corner. Didn't Duke know her well enough to understand that he didn't  _need_ to hide with her? The street opened into a nicer market area, a couple of chain restaurants interspersed with neat little shops and stalls. She kept her eye out for either a train station or a sign pointing her in the right direction.

“You _can’t._ You’re — prey have it _so easy,_ Carrots. You can’t possibly know what it’s like for us. You’ll never know what it’s like to be _hated_ for your classification.”

“You’re right,” she told him, stopping in her tracks. Her entire body felt as though it were vibrating, and she couldn’t help the soft, delicate tone that crept into her words. She stared at the bodega across the way so that she wouldn’t have to look at Nick. “I’ll never know what it’s like to be you. And I wouldn’t want to. If I felt half as sorry for myself as you do for yourself, I’d probably jump off a bridge.”

Silence.

She felt awful — how could she have said that to him? Sure, she was angry at him for playing these games, but that was just part of the package she had promised herself she would accept. Truthfully, she couldn’t put her finger on _why_ she was angry with him; that it _felt wrong_ seemed like a cheap excuse, and she couldn’t exactly confront him with on a vague idea of what her problem was. It was obvious that he had no intention to keep the peace, though, so once again, it fell to her, even if that was unfair. She sighed and dropped her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Nick. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“...No hard feelings,” he answered, patting her head once and withdrawing his paw. “Now why don’t we sit down somewhere quiet and strategize? You have to be up early in the morning to start your brand new job as a mushroom hunter.”

“Joy,” she said unenthusiastically, but she nodded in assent.

* * *

Judy’s lineup consisted of herself, six other rabbits, one hare, a squirrel, and a fox. As soon as she entered the area, she caught the vixen’s attention — of course, she probably smelled like Nick, who had helped her “artfully” muss her fur at what he had called NO o’clock that morning — but she didn’t get any hate or distrust off the vixen, which she’d gotten pretty good at determining in her three years as a detective with the ZPD. She was about to ask where she should be when her sensitive ears caught the sound of an altercation between one of the rabbits, whose Commons was clearly limited, and a beaver in a suit comparable to the one Hoofley had worn the day prior.

“Please to stop,” the bunny pleaded at a whisper. Judy recognized the funny phrasing and lack of definite lisp as a direct translation of a western variant of Lapine, more of a creole than anything that had originated in the Great Plateau region. What was a desert rabbit doing in Zootopia when the western provinces had much more stringent migration restrictions?

“C’mon, Sweetheart, I’m not asking for much, just a picture,” said the beaver cajolingly, tugging on the bunny’s ear.

Judy felt her blood boil, but before she could take a step, the vixen — Judy thought she might be a leucistic red, but she wasn’t sure — was suddenly in the beaver’s face with bared teeth just barely contained inside a dangerous snarl. “She asked you to stop, bucko.”

“She didn’t ask for your help, did she,” the beaver sneered, even as he took a nervous step back. Judy propelled herself forward, hardly thinking about it, just in case. Who knew what any of these mammals were capable of? The beaver turned back to the rabbit he’d been harassing earlier. “You don’t need this bitch telling you what to do. Just gimme a cute smile for my collection.”

This time, Judy fought to stand her own ground at the sound of the vixen’s low, angry growl. “I don’t care _who_ you are, you _sick fuck,_ you don’t get to talk to my girl like that-”

“Oh, what’s it to you, _pelt,”_ the beaver jeered. “I know you mangy fleabags aren’t that bright, but even you oughtta know-”

“That’s enough,” Judy said firmly, stepping between the two, before remembering that Dahlia Hornsby wasn’t a cop. Darn it. Well, there was nothing for it — she’d just have to see it through. Lisps firmly in place, and with a glare at the beaver, she added, “No one should fight before work is complete. It is bad manners.”

He grabbed at her, looking angry. Ugh, how predictable, and somehow, every time it was a surprise. “You want to see bad manners, little morsel? You can suck my-”

With gritted teeth, Judy followed her academy training and took out the beaver’s knee with a kick to the side of it, following up the short, sharp move with a decidedly _not_ academy-approved kick to his groin once he was down on the ground. With practiced efficiency, she brought one arm behind him and held it in the middle of his back uncomfortably. He whimpered, and Judy tried not to feel good about it, but _it had felt good._ How many times had she let stuff like that go because she was in a position of power? How many times had she ignored verbal abuses, mean comments, snide little digs at her species, just because she wanted to prove herself to be...not _just as good_ as another mammal, but _just as worthy_ of mammal status? It felt good to fight back. It felt good to look down on him and see him hurting, and know that he was hurting because she had made him pay for trying to hurt her. She hated that it felt good, and she hated the little smile that crept across her face. She didn’t want it to feel good.

She kept smiling.

“You...you’ll be out of a job,” the beaver wheezed up at her.

“Yeah,” said the vixen from behind Judy, sounding amused. “Everyone’s totally gonna believe that you got thrashed by a _cute_ little bunny for no reason. Look, you’ve been warned before, if you’re gonna harass my workers — yeah, hi, management here — then I’m gonna get a restraining order. Pretty hard to get to work if you have to avoid three city blocks every morning.” She put a soft paw on Judy’s shoulder and Judy took that as a cue to let the beaver go. “C’mon, we’re getting started. You’re the new girl, right? Dahlia?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Judy replied promptly, and allowed the vixen to usher her toward the rest of the group, who were eyeing her with distrust. Great. She’d already made a mess of things.

“Don’t call me that,” the vixen said with a shudder. “I’m Skye Winter. I prefer Skye, Ms. Winter if you absolutely _have_ to. Where did you learn that?”

Good thing part of Dahlia’s character was an incomplete grasp on Commons; she didn’t need to sound convinced by her own on-the-fly story. “My mistress sometimes needed me to make the bad mammals go away.”

“Uh-huh.” Skye’s expression was one of supreme skepticism, but thankfully, she didn’t call Judy on the lie — after all, it was as plausible as any other reason for an undocumented bunny to have certain skills, considering that by nature bunny slavery had been almost entirely unregulated. Instead, she shrugged and turned to the rest of the group. “You’ll be working with us for the foreseeable future. They’re moving us to the Nocturnal District, because _of course_ they are, and Olive will show you the ropes when we get out there, but for now, just remember not to eat _anything_ we harvest. Got it?”

“Yes, Ms. Winter.”

Skye rolled her eyes and turned away. Raising her voice, she addressed the whole assembled group. “Okay, everyone get in the van, we’re headed to the Nocturnal District. It’s about a twenty minute drive, so you’ll have plenty of time to choose your partners.”

* * *

Judy preferred fixing tractors.

Hunting mushrooms was not a rhythmic task, and even as relatively low to the ground as rabbits were, it was hard on the bones. Judy’s spine felt like she had been slouching all day, her fingers were sore, and even her eyes were tired. How could the harvest crew back in Baniburrah _stand_ it?

She understood why Skye had told her not to eat any of their harvest. Pictures online didn’t do _Amanita phalloides_ justice; they looked delicious, and after working hard, she was so hungry. At least the hunting had given her plenty of time to take plenty of covert photos and ask Olive, her partner, plenty of questions about the job. She had, unfortunately, gotten limited answers; none of the bunnies had been willing to say more than a few words to her, except for Olive and Red Ivy, the rabbit she’d defended. But there was a language barrier with Red Ivy, and Olive wasn’t the most chatty mammal ever.

Judy would be discussing those answers with Nick later, when she could listen to the recording and have two sets of ears on the problem, but from what Judy understood, nobody knew _why_ they were harvesting poisonous mushrooms. They just were, and they got paid for it, and as long as they didn’t ask too many questions, they might earn enough money to purchase papers. Or at least get out.

It was funny — her whole life, Judy had wanted to make it _into_ the city. Apparently, she was an outlier.

“Good work out there today,” Skye said, tossing her a water bottle, which she caught with ease and gratitude.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, once she had gulped down half of it. “For the chance, and...earlier, you stood up for Red Ivy even though it made that beaver say those horrible things — not many mammals would do that.”

Skye nodded with a deep frown, marking something off of a list on the clipboard she’d picked up in the van. “Yeah, I know, and it’s a problem. Nobody stands up for a fox, either. Pelt, mangy fleabag...sometimes I’m tempted to make a game out of it, see how many I can get out of one mammal before they get bored. It’s bad. But we can die mad about it, or we can protect each other. Doesn’t your dog stand up for you?”

Judy coughed up her mouthful of water and had to put her paw to her mouth to keep from spraying it at Skye. “My what?”

“Sorry — you’ve got the scent of male fox all over you. I don’t even know what _your_ natural scent is. Someone that close to you had better have your back.”

“He does,” she said immediately, and then thought back to the day prior, when he’d said she’d never understand how bad he had it, as though their two situations should be compared, much less were comparable and not the difference between apples and carrots. Her ears drooped, even though she’d hoped they wouldn’t. “Mostly he does. He is...a complicated fox. He means well. He helps me! And he has a hard life, so I try not to be hard on him…”

“You do know you can leave him if you need to, right? I have some resources, if you’re stuck.”

“Oh, no, _no,_ it — he is — I know how it sounds, but he does not hurt me like that. He would _never,”_ Judy defended adamantly.

“Yeah,” Skye said bitterly, “that’s what they all say, isn’t it?”

Guilt and shame settled heavily in Judy’s belly, because she really hadn’t meant to paint Nick in such a bad light. Skye was an outsider; not even an observer, just someone looking at a blurry snapshot of one paragraph on one page of a longer story. Whatever images Judy’s _words_ might have evoked in Skye’s mind were incorrect. She knew Nick. He wouldn’t hurt her, not like Skye was thinking. Sure, he could be mean, and he didn’t often take her feelings into account, and she got the impression that Nick still hadn’t quite internalized everything he had learned about her, either because he didn’t want to believe it or because she hadn’t explained it well enough, or maybe some other reason that she couldn’t think of.

But despite being a civilian who she often argued with, he had given her more help on this case than anyone. He had gone above and beyond; he had let her into his private home, his sanctuary, a place that he considered near-sacred, just because they had needed a place to bathe and nap safely. That counted for a lot in her mind.

“Thank you,” she said again, instead of explaining all of this. Dahlia Hornsby didn’t have a case. She didn’t even have a name. She had nothing at all. Judy Hopps, on the other paw, was a detective with witness testimony and a few leads.

“No more ninja moves tomorrow,” Skye added with a soft smile, her blue eyes meeting Judy’s briefly. She didn’t look upset, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t. “I don’t blame you, but it’s not just you on the line here. You’re all at risk if one of you steps out of line...and so am I. It’s taken me nine years to get into a position of management, just because I’m a fox, and they have me on cleanup duty.”

“Cleanup?”

“Yeah, didn’t they tell you what...of course not.” Skye sighed and shrugged. “These mushrooms were unnaturally introduced into the environment. We’re trying to cut down on exposure. Kits will eat anything, and one cap can kill most adults. So they’ve got us cleaning up the city, one fruiting ground at a time.”

“That makes sense. Thank you. I will not kick anyone tomorrow,” Judy promised.

Internally, she promised to _do something_ as soon as her case was over. She wasn’t sure what — she wasn’t sure what she _could_ do — but these bunnies needed help, and the way mammals treated Skye (and other foxes) was appalling, and it was clear that the equality she so valued…well, it just wasn’t real. The city she had sworn to protect, the city she had fallen in love with, had a parasite inside of it, and if it wasn’t removed, everyone would suffer.

Someone had to raise a ruckus. Nobody seemed to have done so yet. If the first bunny cop didn’t do it, who would?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What I hate about "realistic" stories is that it does take more than 38 hours to become BFF's when your relationship starts out antagonistic. You fall back into old behaviors, you rub each other the wrong way, you argue and have to make up. I considered _not_ doing that, and then decided it needed to be as rocky as it would be IRL so that when they finally are best friends they have a solid foundation and won't fall apart at the first sign of chaos.
> 
> Expect 4 to 6 more chapters devoted to the Castleberry case, at which point the story should be about halfway over.


	12. Chapter 12

Olive, a black and tan rabbit with a distinctive scar across her green left eye, in a threadbare skirt and jean jacket, on her knees in the dirt — Judy’s palm shaded the phone, but even if her thumb hadn’t been in the way of the palm trees, it was not a pretty picture.

Skye in light gray coveralls, kneeling next to Shale, whose black fur and black eyes under his black ripped coat probably made him soak in the sun more easily than anyone else’s, supporting him with one large paw while he drank from a water bottle — even at the awkward, covert angle, it told a grim story.

A small area of the Nocturnal District had a truly staggering number of death caps. _Amanita phalloides,_ the most dangerous mushroom in the world, was just...there, ready to be picked up and eaten by any casual mushroom hunter or hungry homeless mammal or curious child.

Judy sighed and closed her photo gallery with a frown, trying to piece everything together. It was the mushroom aspect that made the least sense. A large corporation being greedy and shady wasn’t surprising at all. A hospital covering up a scandal wasn’t uncommon. Prisoners being killed in holding _was_ uncommon, but a corporation with as long a reach as Crookwood would probably be able to pull it off. Yax had stumbled onto something horrifying while working at the Greengrass Institute that ostensibly had something to do with decomposers, but death caps weren’t decomposers. Death caps were only useful in theoretical research and, well, the business of death. It seemed like an unnecessary risk to take, unless St. Raphael really was researching cancer treatments, or wanted to kill large swathes of mammals.

Madge would probably make a convincing argument for the second. But why would they do that? The potential for all that death was the only reason Kat would be investigating this, but... _why?_ What profit was there to be made off of large-scale murder? Fewer mammals meant fewer potential consumers, right? Fewer consumers meant less profit. And at its core, wasn’t that all Crookwood really cared about?

Well, no — now that she thought about it, _no._

Circled in bright green in Kat’s notes was a subsidiary that was still difficult to research, because it was now defunct and because it hurt to think about. Bestfluff sounded like an off-brand conditioner, but from what Judy could find with her limited use of the Wayback Machine, they’d actually been selectively breeding Angora rabbits specifically for their woolly fur, in something they called the Ankara Project. If they had been purely profit-driven, they would have sold to anyone, but Kat had made it a point to note in her terse, frustratingly un-detailed way that they had “deliberately limited clientele.” So obviously there was some other motive for selling things that Judy, who’d grown up with no clear concept of currency and only barely understood her own finances now, couldn’t see. Nick would probably have more insight, being a salesmammal himself, but he was unavailable, having made up with Finnick again.

So here Judy sat, by herself in a public library in Savanna Central, sequestered with her tablet in a private room, making very little headway with her research. There were too many loose ends and not enough substance. It felt impossible. It was so _frustrating,_ and it was like she could feel the seconds ticking by, carrying her closer to the end of her career, and then she heard the door open behind her. She turned her ear involuntarily toward the sound, but before she could turn her head, the mammal who’d invaded her private room rushed her and pressed something cold and round to the back of her head. A gun?

Even as she froze, she analyzed the mammal behind her. Their heart was pounding. They smelled like jasmine and smoke and sweat. Judy suspected she knew exactly who it was.

“Don’t move,” said Kat quietly. Her voice barely shook, but Judy’s ears caught it.

“You don’t have to threaten me. I’m not going to run away. You know that already,” she replied, willing her nose not to twitch. “Put down the weapon and we’ll talk.”

For a moment, Judy wasn’t sure Kat would comply, but finally, the pressure left Judy’s head and she turned to look at the ocelot. She looked tired; her eyes were bloodshot, her fur was mussed especially around her ears, and she had a slouch to her posture even in her awkward kneeling position. Judy waved her paw gently toward the other beanbag chair in the reading room made for kits, the only one in the library equipped for mammals her size, and said, “Make yourself comfortable. You look like you could use a break.”

“So do you,” Kat observed, taking Judy’s offer and sitting back into the beanbag chair. It was a tiny bit too small for her, but it had to be more comfortable than kneeling on the hard floor that was only barely carpeted per the city’s bare-bones kit safety standards for public buildings. (All buildings that offered community services tended to be bland, usually decorated in brown or tan, maybe gray if they were particularly ambitious, and the bright pink beanbag chairs were clearly used, as they still had name tags sewed onto them declaring them property of EMMA and RACHEL.)

Judy nodded in acquiescence. She was tired and confused and wanted this to be over, but in order for that to happen, she needed to get Kat to stop running. “I have an impossible case that’s keeping me up at night. It was pretty straightforward when I got it, just a missing mammals case, but now I guess I’m embroiled in some kind of corporate conspiracy that I didn’t sign up for.”

“I didn’t ask you to get involved,” Kat snapped defensively.

“No, you just fed my friend some lines to say about his brother so that I’d look for you through Earl Weaselton in the Kettle,” Judy returned, trying to keep her tone steady. It would be easy to just lie, promise Kat they would head to the station to get extra support, close her case, and have job security. And that was still an option. But first, she had to get Kat to tell her enough that she could make a reasonable offer. “How did you know I’d find Prongs?”

“You found — wait, you talked to Gerald?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re still _alive?”_

“Despite his best efforts,” Judy snapped, leaning forward a little. “How did you think I knew to ask Duke about the Kettle? Did you think I was psychic?”

“No, I’m not a complete moron.” Kat shook her head and looked at the closed door, fiddling with her bag. Judy wanted to get it from her if she could, as it was the only place big enough to be hiding the weapon she’d been carrying. Her clothing, consisting of a tight off-white blouse and even tighter jeans, was otherwise too tight and lacking in pockets. “Look, I know a little something about the bunny detective, okay? Rachel Meadow did a little segment on you when you graduated, not that anyone would have seen it during election season, and it’s not like you hide yourself like normal bunnies do. You have an information network. Charity cases mostly. You’ve gotten some leads off Duke Weaselton before; I have too. He’s terrible at keeping secrets. I just asked him to tell you that an ocelot was going to be getting a fake ID from his brother at the Kettle and needed to meet with you to give you a private clue, and to make sure he kept my photo on his phone.”

And, because Judy had already made the connection between Kat and the Kettle, Judy had only gotten part of the message from Duke. She could see how it had all happened, but that didn’t make it okay to begin with. “So you used an innocent third party to bait a trap with the intent to assault an officer of the law with a _highly illegal mod?”_

There was a brief silence during which Kat seemed uncomfortable with the way Judy had phrased the course of events. “I mean...I wasn’t planning on shooting you. You were supposed to run. When I reported myself missing-”

“You reported _yourself_ missing!?”

“That’s right.” Seeming to lose her shame, Kat lifted her chin and met Judy’s eyes, daring her to issue a challenge. “I needed backup. Actual backup, not…” She waved her paw up and down in Judy’s direction. “Whatever you’re supposed to be.”

“I’m a det-”

“A progressivist publicity stunt. I mean, I agree with the sentiment, bunnies are underrepresented right now, but you can’t expect me to believe you can do what your colleagues can do. I told you to back off, _De-tec-tive._ You were supposed to give the case to someone who can _help._ Why didn’t you?”

Judy felt anger burn through her, and not even because of Kat’s dismissive attitude. She was used to being dismissed. For the past two weeks, she had been trying to solve a fake case. Kat had filed a fake report on herself, with the intent to piggyback off police resources for her own ends? And when she hadn’t gotten the _right_ mammal on her case, she had gone out and purchased an implement of torture and used it to _scare Judy off?_ She was within her rights to arrest Kat. It was the right move. It was legally required. But…

“It’s obvious you don’t know very much about the department you tried to misuse, Ms. Castleberry,” she said coolly. “How long have you been missing?”

“About three weeks.”

“And I got this case just under two weeks ago.” Judy let that sink in and watched with almost vicious satisfaction as Kat’s eyes widened in surprise. Channeling Nick, she said with what she hoped sounded like sleaze, “Nobody cares about you. You’re just a number on a page. You wanted the resources of the almighty ZPD, but darling, all you have is me. And I’m not feeling very generous. Would you be?”

“But I made _sure._ There’s been a string of kidnappings, all the same — blood at the crime scene, most of them are small mammals, most of them have no family. Dave did a story on it.”

“If there’s a string of unsolved kidnappings, and another mammal goes missing, the case gets added to the list, not prioritized,” Judy pointed out. She raised an eyebrow and held up her tablet. “You do realize you could have filed an actual police report on the death cap project, right? Or better yet, published your story under a fake name. You’ve wasted resources, wasted time, and for what? What have you learned? What could you have learned with a different detective chasing you?”

“Not chasing, _helping!_ Crookwood is-”

“Classified,” Judy interjected, shutting down Kat’s train of thought before she could get too impassioned. “Technically, I’m only getting away with as much investigating as I’m doing because the Chief hates me, and refuses to add me to the system, so as far as anyone knows _I don’t know_ it’s classified. I’ve been looking into Crookwood _because I care,_ on a personal level — because I swore to serve and protect this city, and I have the means to do so. Any other detective would have washed their paws of your case as soon as they heard who you were investigating. They would have passed it to the ABI, who — as you said — might or might not be investigating properly. As it is, I asked a friend of mine to put in a request to INTERPOL, and I have a meeting with a representative in one week. Crookwood is an international corporation; that makes this an international case. According to the Ibis Accords of ‘13, all international cases can be reviewed by a board if investigative bias is suspected. But someone has to report it first.”

“Oh,” said Kat quietly.

“If you had talked to me when I offered, we could have done more investigating together. Imagine how much more we could give my contact. But instead, you _shot me._ You _shot me_ right in front of my civilian consultant, who thought I was dying. He thought he’d just witnessed a zoicide. Do you have any idea how traumatizing that is?”

“I’m sorry-”

“And you should be.” Despite feeling agitated, Judy knew by Kat’s contrite posture and expression that she’d made her point. “We only have a week until my contact arrives, Ms. Castleberry. If you work with me and tell me what you know, then maybe we have a chance to do some good here. But right now, all I have is a bunch of scattered pieces that don’t seem to fit together, and I feel like it all points to St. Raphael.”

“It doesn’t,” Kat said grimly. She closed her eyes, sighed, and nodded. “Okay. I’ll tell you everything, in exchange for...well, I don’t want to be within disappearing distance when they find out who dug all of this up.”

“I agree, you need protection.”

“And we can’t talk _here._ This is a public library,” she added disdainfully. “Why are you here?”

For some reason, she felt very self-conscious when she answered truthfully, “The power’s out in my apartment building. I came here for the Wi-Fi.”

“I see,” Kat said neutrally. Judy wasn’t sure if she did see — the power going out was a regular experience, a side effect of living in Happytown, though the brownouts didn’t usually last long enough to melt the frozen goods in anyone’s freezer — but she hoped not. “I have a place we can go.”

“Not without Nick. My consultant.”

Kat blinked, looking surprised. “The fox? You trust him that much?”

Judy thought about the past couple of weeks. Did she trust Nick? Not completely, no. He still made her uncomfortable, and they still had plenty of problems. But aside from that, they were _friends._ He was her biggest ally in the city, and she trusted him _enough,_ and against Kat, there was only one answer. “He’s my partner. I trust him with my life.”

* * *

Katrina Castleberry was staying in a high-rise that did _not_ belong to her. It was nice, yes, but Judy didn’t feel comfortable getting too close to the windows, even though she knew logically she wasn’t going to fall through them. Sequoia Towers had sprung up a year ago after buying out lots of local stores — and, if Melinda Waverly from the Sahara Daily Trumpet was to be believed, shaking down some locals, who’d taken their settlements and gone quiet — and it was a nice building, very sturdy, with office space down on the first two floors and living spaces in the actual towers. Although it was a nice, new, very safe building, it felt sterile, not like a home at all. You couldn’t pay Judy enough to live there.

...Well, that wasn’t true. She’d trade a real badge for a fake home like this any day.

“I’m house-sitting,” Kat explained, gesturing to the mid-large-sized interior decorated in muted blues and grays. Even the couch looked too nice to sit on. “The owners are out of the country, so it’s perfect. I get a secret place to stay where no one would think to look for me, they get someone to air out the linens twice a week and keep everything dusted.”

“Unless you get caught by Crookwood muscle,” Nick put in, sounding much too excited by the prospect. He was still a little sore about being scared by Kat’s gun. While Judy didn’t necessarily blame him, she thought that if she could put aside _actually_ being shot, he ought to be able to put aside watching it happen. With a grand wave of both arms, he continued, “Imagine if they followed you here and killed you. The poor owners of this nice suite would have to scrub your blood and brains out of their bee-you-tee-ful white carpet.”

Kat closed the door behind Nick, probably a little more firmly than was necessary. With a roll of her eyes, she led the way into the dining nook, where she had set up a workstation at the table. She gripped her rattan bag strap so tightly Judy worried that it might hurt her paws, so maybe she wasn’t as unaffected by Nick’s comment as she was trying to pretend. “I’ll only be a nuisance when I publish the story. I _was_ planning on dropping it once I knew I had police protection, but then _you_ chuckleheads got assigned the case, and it all went to hell.”

“Again,” Judy said through gritted teeth, “I’m-”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re doing me a favor. I didn’t know that till today, did I?”

Judy exchanged an irritated glance with Nick, who seemed to mirror her mood. They needed Kat happy for more than one reason, but she wasn’t very pleasant thus far. Judy felt a little sorry for pulling him away from his Pawpsicle hustle; he felt good enough to go back to it now that he had Judy’s protection, although he had apparently chosen to halve the lumber portion of his scheme by only selling the parts of the recycled sticks that hadn’t been touched by the ice cream. It was less profit overall, but also less danger.

Nick climbed up onto one of the two chairs at the table and Judy, deciding that if Kat wasn’t going to be a polite host she didn’t have to be a polite guest, followed. She had to share the chair with Nick, but that was fine; three chairs would have been too many in front of the ocelot-sized laptop anyway. Kat huffed, dragged the other chair over, and jumped up onto it. “I’m still not sure it’s the right move, telling you, but what choice to I have?”

“Not telling us, having no support, and getting disappeared by corporate mooks,” Nick put in unhelpfully with a sharp grin that looked far more dangerous than it was. Judy knew, from prior experience and from getting to know him, that he wore this expression when he wanted to get a rise out of someone. Great, she was dealing with a cranky reporter and Nick at his most trollish. What _fun._ Even the arm slung casually over Judy’s shoulders served to make him look smarmy, designed to tick off somebody. Judy didn’t think he was targeting her this time, at least; Kat looked them both over with a strange, almost disgusted expression, before turning her attention to her laptop.

“I got turned onto the Death Cap project a couple of years ago when I got curious about the ruined vineyards,” Kat explained, typing her password into her computer too quickly for Judy to memorize it.

“But…” Judy frowned. _“Amanita phalloides_ isn’t parasitic.”

“No, it’s not, and I’ll thank you to let me finish,” Kat snapped. Judy leaned back against Nick, her ears falling down around her shoulders. “You think a private research facility with the kind of funding and resources like the Greengrass Institute would be content to make, like, super-rice or whatever GMO’s they’re sending to whatever underprivileged mammals this week? Since when have conglomerate thieves ever been about _helping?”_

Judy decided not to mention that Kat worked for a private news agency herself, and not exactly a small one. Maybe it wasn’t ZNN, but it pulled in enough revenue that the C.E.O. had made it onto the cover of at least one financial magazine.

“Anyway, the operation’s pretty slick. They hire the most disposable mammals they can find to do the actual harvesting for their research, mammals nobody’s going to miss, and they’ve found a way to _create_ a parasitic death cap. It dilutes the poison — they found that out through testing patients at St. Raphael. But the point isn’t to kill all the mammals, is it? Just to ruin the crops. Just to kill _enough_ mammals that they can implement the next stage.”

Kat clicked her mouse and brought up a document that Judy, for the life of her, couldn’t make sense of. Nick tightened his grip on her shoulder, but said nothing, so Judy asked, “What is this?”

“Just _look!”_

“If either of us understood,” Nick said snidely, “then you wouldn’t have to explain, would you?”

“You’re not stupid, fox; you managed to decode the notes I left for you,” Kat shot back irritably, tugging on one of her ears.

“Hey, I’m just the help.”

Kat snorted. “Sure you are. _The help_ who happens to be the one the _great_ bunny detective here trusts most. Just look. I know this is financial stuff, but it’s not hard. Crookwood’s big, but it’s not immune to public opinion — stocks have been _tanking_ ever since they won that ridiculous case out in dust country. The one where they fired the lemur when she came out as trans, and then a bunch of mammals came forward with stories about being fired for being gay or whatever, and it was found that there’s actually no legal protections for orientation or gender identity? I mean, plenty of mammals agree, or at least don’t care enough to actually protest with their money. Or if they do care, maybe they just don’t know how many subsidiaries Crookwood actually has, but the point is, even if they’re mostly doing fine, lots of mammals are paying attention, and the internet’s helping spread the message. That’s actually one area where you bunnies _are_ helping.”

Judy raised an eyebrow, imagining a bunch of bunnies sitting in front of screens all day. “An information campaign?”

 _“No,_ but you’re getting hired under the table, like always.”

“Oh,” said Nick, sounding somewhat surprised. “That’s what what’s-his-name, the traditionalist conspiracy nut, is always raving about — bunnies stealing money. I always thought that was insane. I mean, it _is,_ but he’s talking about off-the-books work, not...armed robbery, like he makes it sound.”

“Exactly.” Judy didn’t like the flat, triumphant note in Kat’s tone, but she understood why it as there as the ocelot continued, “Now imagine that you built an empire on that kind of labor. Imagine really believing really _idiotic_ stuff, like — that the reason the Feline Coalition existed was because the big bad government made bu— live meat farming illegal, and the subsequent protein shortage disproportionately affected big cats, not...you know, the _real_ reason, because they were treated like garbage elsewhere, because _your company_ had a paw, or hoof, as it were, in the redlining process that made it hard for big cats, and to a lesser extent other predators, to even find _homes._ Imagine arguing in court, over and over, that your company and its subsidiaries ought to have the right to discriminate against group A or group B because the god you believe in doesn’t like those groups, and none of those groups can help how they were born. Imagine that the general public has caught wind of a lot of this, mostly through the internet or rumors and personal experiences even if they don’t know all of it, and are starting to get _really_ pissed off. You need a distraction, something big, something your company might be able to help with.

“Now...imagine that your scientists have spent years researching the way death caps kill mammals, refining their synthetic poison so that they _can_ ruin the soil, the way they managed to do when they were experimenting with wine grapes. For most predators, especially large ones, local groweries are the only financially feasible option; first they target poultry farms, then maybe they target soy crops. Maybe they target local nut farms, maybe other large and accessible sources of protein. Do we let all the predators die of malnutrition while the top scientists in the field pretend to work on making synthetic meat? Or...do we drive them all out of Zoo County? Maybe even the whole province, to a place where only Dogson & Bayard, and Beetroot Industries, are available food resources?”

Nick, whose face had gotten more and more appalled throughout Kat’s explanation, contorted into something truly disgusted. “They want to kill us, or at least make us go away. Prey-only.”

“It’s...just as likely that they _can_ make synthetic meat, and plan to sell it at high prices, or they just want to bring back the kind of farms that…” Judy couldn’t say the rest out loud, and maybe that was for the best; Kat obviously didn’t want to be contradicted, and ever since the last presidential election, anti-predator sentiment had been growing. No matter which option was right, Judy could see it all play out in front of her eyes. She didn’t want to believe any of the options, but she could believe all of them, even the one she feared most. In Animalia, it was money over mammals. Bunnies were expendable. And they would let predators look just this side of savage if it meant maximum profits, wouldn’t they? Bunny sanctuaries were the only places bunnies were allowed to live without jumping through all the hoops to gain citizenship. There were ready-made meat farms all around Animalia already; nobody had to lift a finger.

“It’s true — you were never really _real_ to a lot of mammals. Aside from you, none of your species ever even _tries_ to be more. Sorry, but facts are facts. It’s not _about_ you, it’s about us. Sheep _hate_ predators, they always have,” Kat said, gesturing between herself and Nick, and Judy tried not to take it personally, but it stung.

“Mayor Lionheart knew,” Nick concluded quietly. That stung, too, that he hadn’t come to her defense.

Kat nodded. “From what I’ve managed to piece together, I’m almost positive he did, and that’s why he got killed. He could be a bastard, to his staff especially — I did a story on it, Dawn Bellwether had some choice words that she was too embarrassed to say unless I kept her anonymous, the poor thing-”

“She’s a horrible mammal,” Judy countered aggressively instead of wallowing. She had to prove herself; she _was_ more than whatever Kat thought bunnies were, she _could_ be more. All bunnies could be, but at least Judy could keep proving it in public. “Don’t feel sorry for her. She’s a bigot and a liar.”

“Oh. Well, regardless, she wasn’t the only one. He wasn’t nice, but he cared about this city, and about this country, too. He and Senator Dogwood wanted to take measures to make sure this could never happen. And it got him killed; I just don’t know who did it. But can you understand now why I couldn’t just drop my story and wait?”

“Sure, but not why you _shot my partner,”_ Nick said. He sounded a little angry. “Out of any of the dozens of ways you could have asked for more eyes on you, that was the least effective and the least sensible.”

“I didn’t just need more eyes, I needed hers off. She’s a _bunny,”_ Kat stressed.

“And?”

 _“And,_ too close to the case. You’ve seen who they use for harvesting-”

“Yes, and we _just got done_ talking about how much sheep hate predators-”

“Do you _really think_ a _bunny_ can be objective in a situation like this?”

“The _bunny_ is right here,” Judy said irritably, glaring at Kat, “and can, in fact, speak Commons.”

Judy’s scuffle with the beaver two days prior had sparked something inside of her. She had been so focused on proving herself worthy, but of what? No matter what she did, no matter how nice she was, nothing changed. Being polite didn’t make mammals respect her. Being competent didn’t make mammals respect her. Half the time, her personhood was a joke, or overlooked in favor of _anything else._ So maybe it was time to stop trying to prove herself to anyone else. Maybe it was time to reconnect with her younger self, the optimistic, confident bunny who had really believed that the only opinion of her that mattered was her own.

After a deep breath, she continued, “I told you before: you’ve got me. Period. You can complain about it, you can be angry about it, you can even deny my help. But you’re not going to magically recruit anyone else from the ZPD. _I’m_ the one with the INTERPOL contact, _I’m_ the one with the detective shield, and _I’m_ the one who trained for two years to keep civilians like you safe. I took an oath to serve and protect this city, and that includes you, so I’m going to keep doing that whether you like it or not. I just hope you don’t have to learn the hard way that bunnies only _seem_ kind and polite because we decided to take the high road after your kind _ripped us apart._ I’m not doing you a favor, Katrina Castleberry, I’m doing my job. I suggest you get back to doing yours instead of whining like a spoiled child about what you can’t have.”

It felt _great._

She knew it wasn’t great — that it was unprofessional to talk like that to a witness, that she probably _was_ supposed to take the high road — but being artificially meek was exhausting, and the look on Kat’s face made it worth the slight guilt in her gut. Kat looked like she’d been slapped. Judy felt like she’d done the slapping. She felt more like herself than she had since Mayor Lionheart had died; instead of being off-balance, wrong-footed, she was sure of her point. She was sure of her value, which had nothing to do with what anyone thought about her.

She wasn’t representative of, or represented by, her species. She wasn’t the sum total of her economic contribution and productive hours, either, no matter what the traditionalists in Congress wanted to say. She was a bunny, and she was a mammal, and those two things should never have been separated in the first place. It was time everyone started treating her that way.

“I mean,” said Nick, squeezing Judy tightly, _“the bunny’s_ got a point.”

Judy didn’t even really blame Kat for her opinion. It was a bad opinion, and an incorrect one, but she was coming to realize that Zootopian education had missing pieces. Whether it was culturally cut out because of shame, or censored by some government gag rule, or some other thing, mammals who were younger than 35 were likely to believe things that just weren’t true. Kat probably thought that most bunnies were uneducated by choice. Nick had been led to believe that undocumented bunnies were immigrants, not former slaves with no place to go. Maybe when she had more time and energy to put into it, she would sit down with him and really talk; maybe she’d learn some surprising things too. Already, she had begun to understand how living up (or down) to species stereotypes could be both useful and slimy, and why he might feel hurt even when he reaped benefits.

But they had to protect Kat long enough to meet with the INTERPOL inspector, at which point they could close the case, Judy would be a real detective, and she’d finally be able to _breathe._

“Let’s just get back to the data,” she suggested, offering Kat a small smile. Kat didn’t return it, but she did nod and turn back to the screen, so Judy considered it a win.

* * *

Eavan, the vixen from the upper-class bar where Judy had spoken with Gerald Prongs, did not look as happy to see Nick as she had pretended to be the night they’d been chased into the wine cellar, but when Nick and Judy cornered her after her shift, she didn’t move to run. Instead, she let out a sigh and said, “You goons are all the same. _I just work here.”_

“Oh, we’re not goons,” Judy assured her with an outstretched paw, and then realized, “but that’s probably what a goon would say.”

“Most definitely what a goon would say,” Nick confirmed sadly. He sighed and jerked his head in Judy’s direction, grinning at Eavan. _“She’s_ a goon. Bought and paid for by the government. You should ask to see her badge sometime, if you’re feeling seductive. Me, I’m just a humble street artist-”

“Humble, my foot,” Judy muttered. She wasn’t a goon!

...What _was_ a goon? It was a job in a crime ring, right? She put it on the list of things she only vaguely knew the definitions of and needed to look up sometime soon.

“-and I follow around whoever will feed me. Lately it’s Detective Hopps, here, who wants to ask you a few things. Maybe someday soon...someone else.”

How he managed to sound so smooth while basically telling their witness he was a layabout was beyond Judy, but it made Eavan relax a little. “I don’t know which is more unbelievable, that you’re Prongs’ mammals, or that you’re cops, but either way I don’t have a chance, so ask your questions.”

“Why don’t we go somewhere a little more comfortable,” Judy suggested. When the vixen’s already-artificial smile fell, Judy clarified, “It can still be a public place. We can stay in a well-lit area where there are plenty of mammals who can see us talking, okay? We really do just have some questions, and we don’t want you to come to any harm.”

The reactions from the two foxes were stark contrasts. Where Eavan looked grateful, Nick looked annoyed. Eavan’s body language softened almost completely, and Nick tensed up. Didn’t he understand the value of a public space? Sometimes — not all the time, it depended on the mammals in question — but _often,_ having other mammals around was a good way to avoid an assault. The first time Judy had been...well, cornered and _petted_ by a bunch of drunken Juniors in her first semester in college, her adviser had made her promise to never go out alone if she could help it, and avoid dark spaces, and never go off with strangers.

“Thanks,” said the vixen with a _much_ more genuine smile. “There’s a diner just across the square. I get pancakes there most nights after my shift. Tonight’s one of my usual nights. I’m sure Rebecca would notice if I didn’t show up.”

It was a threat — a clever one, too. Judy had no way to know if it was the truth, and neither would someone who meant Eavan harm. It would be stupid to risk a missing mammals report over someone only tangentially related to Gerald Prongs, and going after this Rebecca would just widen the evidence trail.

“Then let’s get pancakes,” Judy said. To Nick, she added, “C’mon, Mr. Artist, let’s get you fed.”

Eavan laughed. Judy felt good about it. Too often, mammals laughed at her expense, rather than at her words. She didn’t think she was particularly unfunny, though, just...well, as Dawn Bellwether had once put it, unappreciated. But that could change! It _would_ change. She just had to show more mammals that…

...No. She couldn’t allow herself to think like that anymore; it was bad for her heart and just plain wrong. It wasn’t her responsibility to prove that she wasn’t a _thing,_ but a _mammal_ to be taken seriously. Still, if she could make Eavan smile, she would.

She and Nick followed the vixen across the small square. They were at the very edge of the Nocturnal District, within spitting distance of the Happytown Avenues. Judy hadn’t had much chance last time to admire the scenery, but the area was cutesy, although it smelled a little harsh. It lacked the natural smell that the greener districts had, and according to the city plans, there was a heating system below the surface to make it seem a little closer to the Disney Coast in terms of temperature. It made Judy’s feet hurt a little, though thankfully it wasn’t anything like the midday Kettle, and even though it didn’t cool down significantly at night, the temperature did drop a little.

Eavan led them through an opaque glass door below a blinking neon sign that just said PANCAKE | OOD in shocking pink letters. Judy assumed that at one point, it had said PANCAKE FOOD, which made the same amount of sense as the name of a diner. The name made almost as much sense as having such a high-class bar just across the street from a strip of rundown shops, most of which were out of business.

The confusion must have shown on her face when she stared out the window at the fancy bar, because Nick leaned in close as they waited for a host to notice them and told her, “You can always tell a mob bar. It does well even in the worst conditions.”

“I didn’t think Prongs was a mob boss,” she whispered, hoping Eavan couldn’t hear the conversation.

“He isn’t. That’s one of Jimmy Brownpaw’s places. I’m sure Prongs is just _allowed_ to do business there, because if the ZPD catches the scent of something illegal, Prongs’ little operation will go down for it. I’d be willing to bet Jimmy B. hasn’t set foot in that place since he got it set up — just pays someone to manage it, and doesn’t care if Prongs takes the fall for whatever money laundering goes on there.”

“How do you know who it belongs to?”

“Didn’t you notice that the whole staff was made up of foxes?” No, she hadn’t. She’d been too busy trying to match wits with the deer who’d been toying with her all along. Nick rolled his eyes at her too-long silence. “Figures. Look, foxes don’t get jobs at high-end places like that unless they do _favors..._ or it’s one of Jimmy Junior’s places. He’s a fox himself, so of course he’s going to show favoritism, since nobody else will.”

And suddenly, Nick’s comment about the DA’s _fox-slut sister_ made sense, even if it _was_ nauseating, both in terminology and in implication. How could Sporeheel not appreciate how dangerous it had been for his sister to sleep with a mob boss just to put him through college? How could he be so ungrateful? Maybe if he were _actually_ a hard-working, honest lawyer who simply took issue with the fact that Jimmy Brownpaw, Sr. was (or at least had been) a mob boss — _maybe —_ Judy might understand. But he wasn’t.

She had questions — questions she wasn’t about to ask Nick. For example, if foxes were still called mangy, why did other mammals want them to perform sexual favors? It was the same question she had often asked about bunnies: if bunnies were still so often considered too dumb to be real adult mammals, why were they such a popular fetish? She wouldn’t ask Nick, or Eavan, or Skye for that matter, because a fox wouldn’t have an answer, just as she didn’t have an answer to the question about bunnies...and she wouldn’t be comfortable if some random fox asked her about it.

“All right, table for three,” asked an impala with a bright smile. From her position on the ground, which limited her vision somewhat, Judy thought she could see that the impala’s ears were shaped a bit like a rabbit’s, and even had the black tips that Judy’s had. Her dark brown eyes were warm and looked nice against her brownish coat, and although the uniform was lime green, she — Judy couldn’t see the nametag — seemed comfortable, where Judy probably wouldn’t be.

“Yes, please,” said Eavan. “Rebecca, these are my little-while friends, Detective Hopps and...an artist? Sorry, I know we met before, but I’m not great with names.”

“Nicholas. It’s a pleasure,” Nick said, not holding out his paw for an introduction. It was probably for the best; he was too short for a pawshake to be anything but awkward.

“And please, both of you can call me Judy,” Judy added, just to be polite. Nick gave her a weird look as they followed Rebecca and Eavan to a booth, but she ignored him in favor of examining the interior now that she could see more of it.

The place looked...more or less like a standard diner, the same one from thousands of TV shows and movies, the same one on the corner of I Street and Cherry Avenue. She was pretty sure this was the same diner she and her activist group had done some planning in during college, as well, and this was the same diner featured in a not-so-pleasant article about an outbreak of ringworm in Podunk. The pleather seats were a sort of pale green that looked washed out under the tube lighting, the tables tried and failed to look like granite and wood but were really just made out of plastic, and everything was made for large mammals and below — nothing from the megafauna class.

“Now,” said Rebecca, once they were seated, “can I get you anything to drink?”

“Just water for me, please,” Judy said.

“Coffee, if it’s made,” Nick added.

“And I’d like some water as well,” said Eavan.

“I’ll get that out to you shortly. I’ll be back to take your orders in a bit!”

“She seems...perky,” Nick commented, shaking his head as Rebecca bounced off in search of drinks for them.

“Maybe. She looks out for me,” Eavan said mildly. Again, it was a warning. “Now, what did you two want to ask me about?”

Judy nodded and took the lead. Nick had done his part in getting her on board...as much as he could have, anyway. “Last time you talked to Nick, he asked you about a friend of ours, an ocelot. She came into your bar a couple of times. He told me you said you knew her, but he couldn’t ask how well you knew her before we were forced to leave. We’re working on her missing mammals case. Gerald Prongs, that deer who was there...well, I got a tip that _he_ knew her, but he wasn’t very helpful. He was actually kind of mean.”

“Someone was probably setting you up to get hurt,” Eavan concluded. Judy didn’t think so; the lead on Prongs had come from Billie, who wasn’t stupid enough to set up a cop like that. She could, however, see why the vixen in front of her might think so. “Gerald’s a mean son of a gun. I think…” She looked both ways and leaned closer. “I think he might be into some criminal stuff, you know, bigger than just pushing around whoever looks at him funny. I get a really bad feeling whenever he and his boys come in, but...well, it’s not like I have many options, you know? I have bills to pay just like everybody else.”

“Yeah, you might be right,” Judy said noncommittally. If Eavan didn’t know the extent of Prongs’ dealings, it was probably safer if it stayed that way, at least until Judy could do something about him. If he knew that Eavan knew more...what might he do to her? “Thanks for the tip. What do you know about Kat Castleberry?”

“Only that she and Gerald had a pretty big fight the last time she came in. Before, she was pretty quiet, and only talked with Ben — he’s the nicest one, another ocelot, doesn’t really come around very often and _never_ makes a pass at me — but that night, she was yelling up a storm. She accused Gerald of being _in on_ something, some project, and he said she was getting hysterical, and if Ben didn’t get rid of her, he’d do it himself. Ben got her out the door pretty quickly, but before she left, she said she hoped he followed her to the Kettle, which I’m guessing is a fight club or something, so that he could see who he’s _really_ dealing with. I haven’t seen her, or Ben, since.”

“Nick,” she said, eyeing him. _“Ben.”_

“It explains why we couldn’t find him,” he agreed.

So that was the missing link. It was why Kat had an in with Prongs’ crew, and how she had ties to the criminal element: her brother wasn’t just part of the Forest Temple commune, he was part of a gang. The nicest part, apparently, but still. The implications of this information were unsettling. Kat had all but invited Gerald Prongs to cross paths with the ZPD. Had that been before or after she’d found out Judy was the one looking for her? Clearly, Kat had no problem using mammals against each other for her own benefit, which was theoretically fine, but not when she was wasting ZPD resources on a vendetta. She could have gotten officers killed. She could have gotten Judy and Nick killed. Was this something they should sit on until after they met with INTERPOL, or was it something they should call Kat on when they met up the next day?

“Eavan, you’ve actually really helped us a lot. Thank you,” Judy said sincerely. Whatever the decision, it wasn’t the vixen’s problem.

“I...don’t think I really said anything,” Eavan replied uncertainly, “but you’re welcome?”

Nick leaned back against the booth and crossed his arms, looking self-satisfied. “Right. Now, I don’t know about you two, but I’m _actually_ hungry, so I think we should do what we said we’d do and have some pancakes and coffee instead of just using this place as a cover for an informal interrogation. All in agreement, say aye.”

“Aye,” Eavan said.

Judy rolled her eyes, dug into her pocket for her wallet, and replied, “All right, _aye._ And, Eavan? I want you to take my card.”

“What for,” asked the vixen, but she took the proffered card nonetheless. It only had Judy’s name and work cell number on it, but at least it was something.

“You know things. Knowing things can get dangerous, and I meant it when I said I don’t want you to come to any harm. So, if you feel unsafe...please call me. If I’m not in a place to help, I can have one of my colleagues come get you. I took an oath to serve and protect. That means making sure you stay safe.”

“You...do know that’s not a real thing, right? The cops — I mean, it was already found in court that…you’re a detective, not a beat cop. That’s different, I know, it’s a different job, but... _to serve and protect?_ It’s just words on a badge. It doesn’t actually mean anything.”

“Maybe that’s what some cops think,” Judy acknowledged, staring Eavan in the eye, “but not me.”

Nick jabbed his thumb at Judy with a conspiratorial smile and leaned forward to say, “She’s a weird one. But I’m pretty sure she believes what she says, so just take the card and be grateful we’re the ones on your case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Kat has a very specific agenda, Nick and Judy are beginning to understand each other better, and Eavan's got some protection. All in all, a productive chapter, even if I don't _love_ how it all came out.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm uncreative so I used another video game reference instead of naming the country Ruth and John Wilde came from. Empycchu is an island in Dragon Quest 8 and Godbird's Eyrie is a dungeon on that island. In the game, the Empycchu locals don't practice the same religion that the rest of the world on the map does, and the world religion, which seems to be based heavily on Catholicism despite worshiping a goddess instead of a god, is militantly enforced by templars, so it works nicely for a fictional country where atheists, Vulpes clans, and practitioners of other religions are being persecuted and driven out. I won't go into too much detail here about my Zootopia!Empycchu headcanons, but I've implied in other works that Ruth's family (Aspen) did follow the Church of Northern Winds -- as do many Vulpes clans, as a matter of fact -- but they were driven out anyway just for being Vulpes, along with other foxes who weren't Vulpes clans, like John Wilde's family. (The significance of those terms shall be addressed in the interlude but y'all are smart, so you probably already know.)

Judy stared at Kat, who looked increasingly more on edge as time went on.

Nick was out getting coffee — he didn’t need to be here for this, and he certainly didn’t need to know that Kat had threatened Judy with another gun — so it was only the rabbit and the ocelot in the high-rise, locked in a staring contest that Judy intended to win. Her teeth, prominent against her lips, would unsettle anyone who thought that rabbits were meek and nonthreatening. It was true that most of them chose to be. But in today’s society, teeth bared in a snarl were a threat even if they were flat. Baring your teeth meant you were ready and willing to get down in the dirt and fight like your ancestors, and in _this_ room, Judy was the one with the training and reflexes to pull it off.

Not to mention, Judy wasn’t the one with an interest in keeping things neat and orderly.

“I’d rather this didn’t turn violent,” Judy admitted, keeping her voice as neutral as possible as she shared the sofa with the ocelot.

Kat shrugged. “So don’t make it violent. Turn the other way. If it was found in court that officers aren’t required to serve and protect, then _theoretically,_ you have a choice about which laws you choose to enforce, right?”

“Theoretically? Maybe.” Judy shook her head. “In a case like this...it’s not just about you, Ms. Castleberry. Maybe, _maybe,_ you might be able to convince me of your pure intentions, but you’re a small mammal in a big world. You know as well as I do that all it takes is getting robbed once and suddenly, your intentions don’t matter. Part of the mandatory training covers how to minimize that risk. I’m not even necessarily telling you to give up your firearm — though I should, considering you _threatened to shoot me with it —_ I’m asking you to let me see your license and registration.”

“Did you...did you ask everyone in the Kettle to see if _they_ were carrying illegally? No. Would you ask another _bunny?”_

At this, Judy couldn’t help her snort of laughter. Although it sort of hurt to say aloud, she couldn’t help cracking, “Let me know when you find a bunny who would be dumb enough to carry. As for your other question, no, I don’t go around asking citizens if they have guns, and if so, whether they’re licensed. I just happen to know that you don’t have any registration on file. That’s what happens when you report yourself missing: all your life gets put on display for the cops to see. Maybe you should have thought of that before wasting the ZPD’s time.”

“If I’m such a _waste of time,”_ Kat retorted with a raised eyebrow, “then why haven’t you just written me off or arrested me or something?”

“Because I’m afraid what happened to the doctors from St. Raphael will happen to you if I don’t protect you, and I don’t want to see you dead,” Judy told her kindly. More kindly, she thought, than Kat _deserved._ The ocelot’s fearful expression told Judy that even if she were a pretty good reporter, she hadn’t thought through everything, and Judy considered it a win when Kat looked away. She blinked heavily and continued, “We both want to see this through, but I don’t trust you with a firearm _at all,_ and especially since I don’t know what it is, whether you’ve been trained to use it, or whether you acquired it legally. That’s all. Show me the gun and the papers, Ms. Castleberry. I don’t want to have to cuff you and search the premises. If Nick came back to that scene, I assure you that the parade of lesbian bondage jokes would have no end. I wouldn’t be too bothered, but you haven’t made a secret of how worthless you think I am.”

“It’s not like you’ve gone out of your way to be impressive, you know,” Kat pointed out. She waved her arms around at the interior of the high-rise, seemingly for effect. “I’m on the _run_ and I still manage to live in a place with reliable internet. You’ve been a cop for, what, three years? And you don’t even have a real shield yet. They don’t trust you with a partner, so you’ve got to recruit some rando off the street-”

“Nick isn’t just _anybody-”_

“That’s right, he’s not,” said Kat triumphantly. Her smile turned vicious. “He’s a fox, and _all_ that comes with the package. Maybe you’re telling the truth; maybe he’s not random. So I guess the real question is, did he own you before or after you started working at the ZPD?”

“Show me the weapon and the papers,” Judy said again, more firmly this time. It rankled not to stand up for herself and Nick, but the alternative was playing into Kat’s trap. Judy knew what lay down that road. She’d been there, back in college when she had somewhat naively thought that all mammals asked questions with the sincere desire for an answer. She knew better now. This wasn’t a genuine query about her safety, it was just an attempt to divert Judy’s attention and make her feel bad for a while.

“Look, I don’t have either.”

Judy just gave her a look she hoped was sufficiently disbelieving. Kat shifted. “I’m serious, I never had a gun. I found this...metal tube thing and I hoped you’d get scared off by it, okay? You can look at the tapes in the library. It’s not my fault you didn’t react like you were supposed to. Bunnies scare easy. You called my bluff. I had to give up.”

It wasn’t that Judy didn’t want to believe Kat. After all, despite her _very_ irritating personality, the ocelot hadn’t shown herself to be murderous thus far, and seemed to be dedicated to doing what she felt was the right thing, at least in this particular case. Further, it _was_ true that public libraries usually had tapes running in kit nooks to discourage kidnapping and other bad things. But she couldn’t afford to trust someone as slippery as Katrina Castleberry, especially when she didn’t yet have access to those tapes. She didn’t worry for her own safety, or Nick’s, for that matter — at least, not very much — mostly, she didn’t trust Kat not to shoot someone _else,_ someone who _didn’t_ have implied protection from the ZPD.

“Show me the tube, then,” she ordered.

Kat rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”

“Either that, or I cuff you and toss the place. I’m not taking chances on my consultant’s safety.”

That was a safe answer, she thought. Judy was no stranger to questionable behavior — threats of justified arrest, and in Nick’s case, outright blackmail — but this was the first time she had threatened violent action in a nonviolent situation. In the grand scope of things, it was hardly violent; cuffing Kat and turning the place upside-down looking for a weapon that she had plenty of reason to believe existed was well within the bounds of reasonable behavior, and even the District Chief probably wouldn’t be able to find fault with it, especially once he saw the tape from the library. Still, she didn’t like the ugly feeling of _wrongness._ It felt like the next step into the kind of “force” mentality that mammals like Porcino occupied. Judy wanted to make the world a better place, not kick it in the face to uphold the status quo. _That_ kind of policing was what caused things like the Delta Valley massacre. _That_ kind of policing was what had separated police departments all over Animalia.

But worrying for Nick’s safety was more than reasonable enough. And it was true, too, in a sort of abstract way. She didn’t worry about Kat shooting Nick, but even if she chose not to shoot anyone at all, size difference was one of the reasons for the strict gun laws in Animalia. It was just a fact that owning a personal firearm for “protection” was more of a hazard than a help; a larger mammal could usually wrest the gun away from a smaller one, and the owner would get shot before they could get away. The rates of gun deaths in situations of domestic violence, the fact that guns made for megafauna could practically erase the evidence of the murder of a small mammal, and other major problems had made these laws inevitable. Without the specialized training required of every gun owner, Judy had no faith that Kat would be able to hold onto her firearm, assuming she had one after all, if an agent of Greengrass, or some other subsidiary, came calling.

“Fine. It’s in the bedroom. Follow me, or don’t, I don’t care.”

Judy followed Kat off the couch, down the hall, and through the door on the right at the end. On the left was another door — through the crack, Judy could see that it was a bathroom — and there was a linen closet between them. The bedroom itself was decorated similarly to the rest of the suite, white, blues, and grays, these ones a little darker than the ones in the social areas. As soon as Kat turned her back to squat down and rifle through the bottom drawer of the large dresser, Judy put her paw on her taser. It would be ineffective if Kat shot immediately, but if she paused, Judy was _probably_ quick enough and short enough to get past Kat’s guard.

“This is it,” said the ocelot, straightening and turning to face Judy. She was, indeed, holding up a funny tube-like object. Made up of metal rings in an odd curved shape with a locking mechanism at the top, it looked like it belonged in a high-end kitchen or something. Or maybe a torture chamber in a low-budget horror film.

“What is it,” she asked, eyeing it with distrust. For all she knew, it could give someone an electric shock.

“Hell if I know, but it feels like a gun if you press it the right way. It’s the right size, basically the right shape at the end, and it’s metal, so even the sound works out as long as you don’t make a production of it. Or...well, it feels like I imagine a gun feels. It’s not like most of us have had a gun to our head.”

That was true enough. Even Judy, who’d had a six-week ZPA course on what nobody wanted to call “how to look death in the face when there’s no way out,” had never had a gun to the back of her head. Most of the exercises had been psychological rather than physical, getting the recruits used to the idea that they might die in the line of duty. That was the portion of the ZPA where most hopefuls scrubbed out.

Still doubtful, she said, “Give it to me.”

Kat threw the tube harder than was strictly necessary and Judy almost fumbled the catch, but at least she didn’t drop it. She ignored the ocelot’s snickers — it had been a setup, and there was no use taking offense to something _that petty —_ and pushed the topmost ring into her arm, holding the rest of the curved tube like she might hold a poorly-shaped revolver. It did feel the same as the ring against her head from the day prior.

But she wasn’t about to just trust one sense. She’d play along, but she’d also keep her eye out. She threw the tube back at Kat and said, “Fine. Let’s go back and wait for Nick to start going over the notes I took when I worked for Greengrass.”

“We don’t have to wait,” the ocelot muttered, tossing the tube back into the bottom drawer and nudging it closed with her foot. Everything was sized for the wolves who lived there, so Judy led the way out, leaving Kat to close the door again. Once she was free of the doorway, though, Judy pressed herself against the door to the linen closet and waited for Kat to start walking to the living room again. She wasn’t dumb enough to let Kat walk behind her.

While Kat pulled herself back up onto the couch, Judy chose to stay standing. She had a lot of nervous energy to work off now that she had decided to at least pretend she believed there wasn’t a firearm here. She wasn’t worried about the shock pistol; those weren’t built for more than one shot, so it would be completely useless as anything other than a blunt object. As she paced, she felt Kat’s eyes on her, but she decided not to speak before the ocelot did.

Kat soon broke the silence with a frown. “Do we really have to wait for him?”

“He’s my trusted consultant,” Judy explained, walking heel-to-toe along the straight line around the outside of the carpet’s design. She twirled her finger in the air. “He’s my second pair of eyes. My partner in crime, like they say in the movies.”

She realized the finger-twirling was something Nick did, and she felt silly for doing it. She didn’t mind picking up new habits from friends, but usually that was voluntary — deliberate — she heard an A.C. idiom or colloquialism that she liked, and she carefully incorporated it until it became second nature. She’d never just...started doing something because a friend did it.

“You shouldn’t trust a fox,” Kat said easily. “Really you shouldn’t trust _any_ predator; we’re better than you, in every way, and that’s why prey like sheep hate us so much. It’s jealousy. They know we should still be running things and they’re afraid we’ll stop playing nice. We’re stronger, faster, sharper...most prey will just never measure up. It’s biology. And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t trust foxes especially: do you have any idea how you smell?”

Judy paused in her balancing act and eyed Kat in disbelief. After that impassioned speech the day before about Crookwood committing crimes that violated mammals’ rights, this was where her mind went? This was what she wanted to say? Did she even care about the mammals who were getting hurt, or was she just chasing another story? _“Excuse_ me?”

“I guess it’s not like you can really control it. You could stand to cover up your natural scent though, maybe with perfume, or at least cover your _neck._ It’s not — you have no _idea-”_

“It’s not my fault if someone has...a weird appetite,” she said awkwardly. The conversation had taken a dark turn that she didn’t like. It was all she could do to keep from tapping her foot on the ground, a tic that showed during times of both nervousness and anger. “I shouldn’t have to...to wear stuff that makes me sneeze or overheat. If they have no self-control, then they shouldn’t go outside.”

Kat gave her an irritated look and spread both of her paws out wide, like she was carrying serving trays. “Well you can’t really expect all predators to just shut themselves away. Once you get a taste, it’s not something you can just forget.”

“What are you saying,” Judy asked, appalled at what she _hoped_ wasn’t the answer.

“I was seven. It’s not like I knew it was illegal. She came out, bowed to us, told us it was an honor to do her duty to us. I could hardly understand her through the accent; it was just words she was mimicking, but she let me hold her on my lap and pet her while my parents negotiated. The next day…” Kat shrugged with a smile that gave Judy the creeps. She felt violated, for some reason, even though the ocelot was only talking. “Your scent makes my mouth water, and honestly, I mean...it sucks for you, but I can understand why my parents were _furious_ when bunnies were granted personhood. _I_ have self-control, but foxes aren’t exactly known for it; they’re known for stealing, playing tricks, and I’ve seen the way he is with you. It’s common knowledge that foxes are protective of their food. He’s going to eat you when he’s done playing with you. You’re a moron if you think otherwise.”

“That’s not...Nick wouldn’t…”

He wouldn’t. He wasn’t like that. Judy felt safer with him than she did with Kat, who had shot her with a shock pistol and eaten a bunny. But — and here it was, that doubt she hated so much — what did she know about Nick, _really?_ Nothing much about his past, other than that he had probably been bullied by the DA as a child, and maybe that had been a fiction after all. Maybe the DA really was just ashamed of a muzzle kink and Nick had made up the story to make her feel sorry for him. She knew that he made his money through a mostly benign upsell game that skated the line between legitimate business and a condensed gold brick scam. She knew that he had, at one point in his life, mistakenly upsold a butt-fur rug to Mr. Big’s grandmother, and was on bad terms with the family because of it. She knew that he was a fairly accomplished petty thief, as evidenced by how neatly he’d managed to steal a doily from Madge without either of them noticing, and that he liked to make fun of other mammals, and that even though he liked to pretend nothing got to him, a lot of things _did._ She knew that he took pride in not being a “real” criminal, that he knew enough mammals to say he knew everyone, and that he was observant, but hardly omniscient — in fact, he was fairly myopic in practice, and he had an ego the size of a planet. She knew that he was cocky, that he understood how to manipulate perception through body language, and that he had allowed her into his sanctuary when he was under no obligation to do so. She knew that he had tried to protect her from an imagined threat in the Kettle, that he didn’t like when she put herself in danger, and that he’d had plenty of opportunities to hurt or even kill her and get away with it.

She knew he was a liar, and he was proud of it…

 _No._ She wasn’t going to let Kat get into her head. Nick wasn’t always nice, and he wasn’t exactly upstanding, and he wasn’t usually respectful, but that didn’t make him _bad,_ right? It just made him imperfect. Nobody was perfect. That just wasn’t the way the world worked, and that was part of what made it interesting.

“I feel sorry for you,” she said finally, crossing her arms over her chest, and she meant every word. “If you jump in all the shadows and never trust anyone, you’ll never have any real friends. You’re probably right that I would be safer if I never trusted anyone who _might_ want to eat me, or kidnap me, or sell me, or just hurt me...but then I’d never be able to trust anyone at all, not even other bunnies, and I’d never be happy. My aunts marched in the Delta Valley massacre back in 1988-”

“Hardly a massacre, like five mammals died-”

“Hundreds of bunnies were killed, but only the other mammals made the news,” she corrected sharply. She raised an eyebrow and hoped she sounded as denigrating as Nick had sounded the first time they’d met. “Good mammals, brave mammals, including some who weren’t even bunnies, sacrificed their lives so that my generation could have the freedoms I do now. I’m not going to live my life cowering in fear and _not_ taking advantage of the happiness I can have just because you think I smell nice. You’re just trying to freak me out. It’s not going to work.”

“Your funeral.”

Judy shrugged and leaped up with a sharp half-turn, partly to sit back down again, and partly to show off. She wasn’t going to show Kat any weakness. “If he kills me, you’re welcome to come to the police ceremony and tell my plaque you told me so. Write an exposé on how dumb the bunny cop actually was. But it’s none of your business who the ZPD consults with; Nick’s the best at what he does, and I think you’re just trying to separate me from my partner because _you_ don’t like foxes. It’s not a good idea to upset the one mammal who can keep you safe from the many parties you have ticked off.”

“You’re _supposed_ to protect me!”

“No,” Judy said, deciding to end the conversation until Nick returned with their coffees, “it’s my job to _find_ you. I’ve done that, and legally there’s nothing stopping me from cuffing you and taking you to the station. Protecting you is a moral choice I’ve made because I think it’s the right thing to do. If our meeting with INTERPOL doesn’t go well because you couldn’t play nice with a fox, turning you in would still be good for my career, but you would be disgraced and jailed, and the story would be buried and forgotten. I suggest you think about that while we _quietly_ wait for Nick to get here. And I suggest you think about what the ERA did for your kind as well — and how much more attention that got from all the special interest groups. Speciesism gets mammals killed, and foxes get enough of it from prey. Nick doesn’t need it from you, too.”

“You’re prey too,” Kat said with plenty of venom, sitting back against the couch cushions heavily.

“Yes, I am,” she replied, turning her upper body to look the ocelot directly in the eye. She leaned forward, daring Kat with all of her available body language to _try_ to interrupt. “The same kind of prey that was trained to bow to her _betters,_ let a stranger put their paws all over her, and then die happily doing her _duty_ to monsters like your parents. Yeah, I said it — they made a choice to behave like monsters and drag you down with them. For all we know, you ate one of my cousins. Another bunny with less to lose would probably rip your teeth out just for admitting it, but I took an oath. I _will_ serve and protect, but if you don’t start watching yourself, I’ll protect you and then serve you up on a silver platter to the Zoo County prosecutor. I’m sure Gesa Klaue will be delighted to sink her teeth into a juicy case like yours. Breaking and entering, possession and modification of a restricted military weapon, stalking, assaulting an officer, association with organized crime, filing a false police report, threatening the life of a protected-class species — she was pretty vocal in her support for the amendment if you remember-”

“I get it.”

Judy nodded and smiled again, this time politely. “Then be quiet and wait. I’m sure we’ll both be more agreeable after we’ve eaten breakfast.”

The silence, though welcome, was crushing. Despite her strong, open words, Judy was scared, _terrified,_ even, that Kat would — that Nick would walk in and see — there was no reason to believe that she wouldn’t be able to defend herself from an untrained journalist, but the wild instinctual part of her knew there was a _precedent,_ and...even if Nick managed to save her somehow, he’d never forgive her. That was almost worse than dying. Her family was different; farming was hard, strenuous work, and dangerous, and they were accustomed to losing each other, as rare as it had turned out to be after they’d all been vaccinated. They would be sad, but most of her siblings hardly knew who she was, and they all had each other. Nick didn’t really have anyone. If he really did consider her as good a friend as he had implied when he’d pulled glass from her paws, her death would hit him a lot harder.

Her heart pounded in her chest, but she did her best to keep her breathing at an even, steady pace. She felt Kat’s presence next to her so keenly it was all she could focus on, and when Nick knocked on the door with their preset code she jumped off the couch to let him in. She couldn’t tell if it had been one minute or sixty, but just knowing someone else was _there_ was enough to ease the tension. Unfortunately, now that she didn’t have all that adrenaline keeping her in check, she could feel herself start to spiral into something dark and ugly. She couldn’t let either of them see her fall apart; she had to be a professional.

“I missed something,” he said, looking between Judy and Kat, who was still on the couch. A glance at her told Judy that Kat was still pondering her situation, and she was a little proud of herself. He leaned back on his heels, still holding the cardboard drink carrier and a bag that smelled like sugar and fruit, and preened. “Have you two been gossiping about me? I know I’m handsome, but _really.”_

Somewhat spitefully, Judy replied, “Yeah, our friend here was telling me all the sexy things she wants to do to you. I’m actually on the way to the restroom to wash my paws; I feel _filthy_ after hearing all of that.”

She power-walked out of the kitchen. Kat’s awkward babbling about lies — and Nick’s smooth response, _it’s only natural, Kat, don’t worry, I don’t hold it against you —_ made her want to smile as she made her way down the short hall, but she couldn’t. After the struggle of pulling the door closed behind her with a series of jumps, Judy hopped into the bathtub, pulled the shower curtain closed, and curled up in the corner, trying to control her breathing. She mostly succeeded, but she couldn’t control the shakes, which lasted until the second time Nick knocked on the door and cracked a stupid joke about picking up fox vanity through exposure.

She wasn’t scared. She was deeply, _desperately_ angry, and it took the laugh to bring her down from the overwhelming urge to throw Kat out the window.

* * *

She couldn’t see out the window, but according to the mental smalls map that Nick had managed to help her draw, she’d soon be passing the first bodega she ever went inside three years prior. The memory, although hazy and not very noteworthy, made her smile; she’d been so happy to learn about her new city. She promised herself that when this was all over, she would do what she could to recapture that magic. It was a shame to be protecting and serving, but no longer enjoying, the city she had fallen in love with. Her outings with Félinia usually took them to tourist stops or public attractions like the furris wheel on the Inner Islands, but Nick had shown her things that only smalls could access, so maybe it was time to make more friends her own size.

That, though, had to be put off until later. Right now, she had to focus, and try not to worry about what her civilian consultant was getting up to without her. Hopefully, he was heeding her texted request to keep an eye out for any more weapons.

Judy didn’t know whether she was fooling herself into trusting Nick more than she ought to. Kat’s words rang in her head, even though she knew Kat was just being mean and stupid, and he wasn’t planning to eat her, and he didn’t _own_ her, but she couldn’t deny that he had a lot of power over her because of the nature of their relationship. She could tell off someone who had actually _eaten_ one of her kind, but she was so afraid of losing his friendship that she couldn’t bring herself to talk to him about asking for permission before he touched her. She wasn’t completely sure she’d be able to stand up to him if he _did_ hurt her or do something to ruin the case. Still, she had to have someone keep an eye on the reporter while she further investigated Greengrass, so he was back at the high-rise doing his very best to annoy Kat into telling him all her secrets. Judy had faith that he would succeed; he was good at being annoying, and he seemed to take pride in being a troll (which had a long O, or so said the dictionary) as well.

According to the notes, which had not been written with the intent to mislead the ZPD and were therefore as trustworthy as a biased reporter’s notes could be, even the heads of the teams (like Skye) didn’t know the real reason for collection, but middle management, like the sheep who’d hired her, had more information. Judy doubted middle management had much information at all; from a practical standpoint, keeping secrets was easier the less mammals knew. It was more likely that Kat was biased, and possibly a bit vengeful. But the more information they had to give to INTERPOL, the better, so the uneasy team had decided it was a good idea to do one more day of investigating. Judy hoped she could foster enough rapport with Skye that she might be willing to give a statement, even though it would go directly against her own interests as an employee who’d worked hard to get to a position of management.

Judy had her own reasons for wanting to see Crookwood taken down. Her research on Zoogle — how she _wished_ she could get her paws on the ABI’s notes — had led her to realize that Crookwood had been one of the three major companies behind the Happytown housing crisis that still persisted. By lobbying for more and more of District 13 to be zoned for commercial and industrial use, especially areas that had originally been meant for subsidized or public housing, they’d displaced a lot of the locals who hadn’t had anywhere else to go. The Grand Pangolin Arms itself was a reclamation attempt, a housing co-op in a converted office building formerly belonging to a tech startup who’d gone under, but if it weren’t for aggressive lobbying in the first place — not to mention displacing community gardens, driving out local businesses, and most banks’ unofficial policy of denying loans to anyone who lived in District 13, among other shady things that Judy had been angry to learn happened in her beloved shining city — it would have been another thriving district.

She hated that until the death of her _very well-known_ sponsor, tokenism had in some major ways protected her from so many ills. She didn’t want to be a special case; she wanted everyone to be treated well. Of course she had worked hard to earn that high-profile sponsorship, but it wasn’t fair to the rest of her kind, or anyone else who’d been harmed by greed and aggression and shady politics.

As long as it cost money to live somewhere, there would always be a need for housing co-ops like the Grand Pangolin Arms. Half her neighbors weren’t even victims of generational poverty, but came from situations they’d had to escape from: bad families, abusive spouses, there was a refugee family on the second floor, and in one neighbor’s case, there weren’t enough jobs in her field, so she paid off her student loans by dancing at a club. But a lot of mammals lived in places like that because they didn’t have enough money to leave their jobs and their communities.

So here she was, on the train to the collection site in the Nocturnal District, hoping to gather a few more clues. Unbeknownst to Kat, who would probably disagree on principle, and Nick, who would probably object on the sensible grounds of safety that would leave Judy with a dirty conscience, she intended to tender her resignation and explain to Skye who she was. It didn’t feel right to make her worry about where Judy might go next, and Judy hoped to at least _warn_ the vixen, somehow, to start looking for a new job. Maybe not warn; maybe just gently encourage. If Greengrass went down, Judy didn’t want Skye, or anyone innocent, to get caught in the crossfire. She couldn’t do anything about the teams she didn’t know, but she could do something about _this_ team.

Hopefully.

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. What if Skye wasn’t the good mammal she pretended to be? What if she went running to the higher-ups and warned them? Dang it, Judy wasn’t good at deciding who was suspicious and who wasn’t. She hadn’t been raised to see the good in everyone; if her parents had their way, she wouldn’t trust anyone except other bunnies, and their reasons were valid. But Judy had grown up reading about Zootopia, the shining city where everyone worked together. She’d grown up reading fantasy novels and post-apocalyptic fiction, where the power of friendship and unity saved the day even over warfare and superpowers. _That_ was the world she believed in. It wasn’t the world that existed, but it was her mission to make the world a better place—

She felt a knee knock against her head and it took all of her strength to keep from falling onto the grate. Somewhere above her, an irritated voice said, “Don’t block the aisle, Bug-Eyes.”

“Sorry,” she apologized, straightening and looking up at the mammal who’d run into her. It wasn’t actually her fault; she was standing in one of the designated small mammals spaces, holding onto the oversized pole, and the ibex had walked into her from behind. But her head was still spinning from the accidental bump. The last thing she needed was a fight with someone twice Nick’s height who had already decided she was at fault. He was probably just having a bad day. Frith knew Judy could get testy when things went poorly for her. She had sulked for _hours_ after meeting Nick for the first time.

She wondered if the ibex would have treated her the same way had she been dressed in a beat cop’s uniform instead of patched jeans and pink flannel. Somehow, she didn’t think so. Perhaps because she was already feeling nostalgic, she wondered how her father would handle this kind of conflict. Would he go against his own teachings and stand his ground, or would he keep his head down, because it was better to be safe than to be comfortable?

The ibex didn’t reply. He just swept past her and stepped off the train. That was probably for the best. As hot as she’d been running for the past few days, she wasn’t sure she would be able to keep herself convinced taking all the blame would be better for everyone. The train shuddered and continued, and Judy steadied herself against the pole.

“Hey — bunny. You all right?”

Judy turned her head to look at the koala across the aisle. He had one earbud in while the other was in his paw; from the messenger bag hanging off one shoulder and the casual, obviously patched, shirt on his torso, Judy thought he was probably a student, and she didn’t care to look further in case he called her Bug-Eyes too. Despite looking concerned, he didn’t seem like he was going to jump across and sweep her off her feet or anything, which was good news, but a friendly face was appreciated. She smiled and nodded. “Yeah, he’s just having a bad day.”

“Bad day, harassment...tomato, tomahto,” he replied with a roll of his eyes, and put his earbud back in. Thankfully, the next stop was hers, and she edged out quickly before anything else could happen. Well, at least she had another story to tell the folks at home. You weren’t a real Zootopian without a scary public transit tale.

It was only a three-minute walk from the station to the collection site. Judy stuffed her transit card into her inside pocket on the way and prepared for some difficult conversations.

* * *

It was the last day the crew would be working the Nocturnal District. The fruiting ground was empty of death caps. Judy didn’t know if more mushrooms would pop up again, but she hoped not; now that the caps were all gone and the nitrogen fertilizer was spread, the District Council could implement their plan to fix the drainage problems. These little patches of natural-enough forest, necessary as they were to keep the separate biomes functioning well, needed better maintenance; Judy thought the Greengrass Institute ought to be held accountable for introducing the spores to begin with, but very few mammals actually knew the truth. As far as most understood, Skye’s team was out gathering research materials and it happened to coincide with the good of the population.

Judy and Olive were working together again — Skye hadn’t even _asked_ why Judy had missed a couple of days, so it was probably a pretty regular occurrence for mammals on her team to skip without notice — and they had to work together to move the unwieldy crate, filled with plucked mushrooms, to the truck that a driver would soon take to...wherever the death caps went.

“This is stupid,” Olive complained in Lapine, wrinkling her brow as they made little headway. Judy didn’t reply; her academy training had largely prepared her to _fight,_ not carry boxes. She was strong enough that this struggle was unreasonable, probably, but she didn’t have the right muscle memory for this to be easy.

Once they managed to secure the crate in the back of the truck, Judy and Olive chose a tall, wide tree and sat against it, waiting for the rest of the teams to finish, and Olive teased, “You look like the grass is whispering secrets.”

“Some,” she murmured, lapsing into Lapine. It was possible — probable, even, given how long the operation had been running — that Skye knew Lapine, perhaps even enough to have whole conversations, but it would at least keep their conversation safe from _other_ prying ears, like the driver, or passersby.

“Are they important secrets?”

She looked sideways at Olive, whose overalls were missing buttons, but who had a genuine smile on her face. Judy didn’t want to see that smile disappear, but Olive had worked for Greengrass the longest, and she was the most gregarious bunny on the team, so Judy had to take the risk. “Yes, they are, but they’re stories I need you to tell. I want to hear about how they treat you here, and all the other bunnies as well. All the bad and the good tied together.”

One of the reasons Lapine was so difficult to learn was that so much of it was contextual. “Hrair” really was any number greater than four, but it was used alongside more modern words to mean anything from “dozens” to “six thousand.” Lapine used the same word for ocean as it did for river, or any other body of water — it was just the word that meant “water” — but the vocal flourishes and context determined _what kind_ of water it was. Rabbits tended, then, to focus on what _was_ instead of what _might be._ Judy’s father, for example, had long ago decided that foxes were untrustworthy, because the meat farm from which he’d been rescued had been run by foxes, and Ethan Grey had stolen at least one of his kits. Foxes had hurt his family; therefore, foxes were bad, and that was the end of it. The weasel he played cribbage with liked to cheat; therefore, weasels were cheaters. Small-to-medium predators had eaten rabbits since ancient times; therefore, small-to-medium predators couldn’t be trusted not to do it again. It didn’t matter that trusting predators _might be_ safe. Bonnie wasn’t so short-sighted, but it was partially built into their language and intensified by the need to survive that rabbits hadn’t been able to just drop because some politicians signed some papers two decades prior.

Interrogating Olive might be easy. It might also be like pulling _teeth._ This would, she thought, be so much easier if Judy could just flash her badge, except then, Olive would probably flee and she wouldn’t have anyone to question at all.

“Skye takes care of us. She let me sleep in her den when my warren got invaded by enemies,” Olive began, as expected. Judy tried to keep her face blank as she thought of uniforms raiding a rabbit warren — where would they _send_ those rabbits? — and Olive’s eyes narrowed. “You understand, don’t you?”

“I will not speak against her,” Judy agreed, although she wasn’t sure she could promise it. Skye was probably as much family to Olive, and maybe the rest of the team, as anybody in the city, but if she was hurting any of her charges in some way, Judy wouldn’t be able to just turn away. “I like her, too.”

“Skye is not the same as Mr. Hoofley, and he is not the same as _the Greengrass Institute,”_ Olive said carefully. With one claw, she scribbled three parallel lines in the soft soil below the tree, one representing each idea. “I like to sit here and listen to the voice on the — _radio —_ because the not-bunny _driving_ talks about secrets too.”

Talking about modern concepts in what amounted to an ancient language was always interesting. Most times, words like “radio” had no direct translation, so the Commons word was used, but occasionally the pronunciation was butchered, because the bunny speaking might have only read the word and not heard it spoken. In Baniburrah, the vernacular included some new words, and some Lapine had been Commonsized, so the two languages worked more nicely together, but in Zootopia, it was very distinct. Judy watched the doodle get more depth. Dots were added to the second line representing the driver of the truck and, presumably, the voice on the radio.

“Bunnies are stupid. It’s okay to tell secrets in front of them, like where the poison goes, or if Skye needs us to protect her from _Greengrass,_ or why Mr. Hoofley needs to be cut.” Olive grinned, baring her teeth, and sketched a vicious X through one of the dots. “He doesn’t ask where we make our warrens, so they have to do more work to send enemies to capture us.”

“Greengrass hunts its own?”

“Only the smart ones, but we’re all stupid. Skye makes sure.”

Judy nodded. “She told me not to defend Red Ivy again.”

Olive drew a smiley face next to Skye’s line and then drew three dots on the top line representing Greengrass. “Patty, the squirrel, has _$9_ for every hour she works. She told her buck that. Rabbits have _$4_ for every hour, and we have _cash,_ not a _paycheck_ like Patty and Skye. Three sheep do this every week. If we aren’t here when they bring the reward, we don’t get it. They think that because rabbits never had that kind of reward, they can trick us into having less. This…”

“Not-bunnies are stupid,” Judy offered quietly, understanding why Olive had so much trouble explaining the wage cheat. Judy, who had a measure of talent for at least basic math, still didn’t understand why mammals allowed themselves to be ruled by little pieces of paper. Maybe she just hated the concept of currency on principle because it hadn’t been very long ago that her species _was_ a kind of currency, and bunny sponsorship was still a kind of social currency, but especially in light of the shady actions of Crookwood for the sake of profit, she had little respect for a system that practically demanded a blood sacrifice just to survive.

Maybe _that_ was why she still had so much trouble with Nick. She’d have to think about it later.

“Mr. Hoofley can’t be trusted, but he isn’t a bad sheep. The sheep from the top are the bad ones and their roots come all the way down to the bottom where we are. I follow Red Ivy; she is my rusamitha. And Red Ivy follows Skye. That’s why we let them cheat us. Skye needs us to protect her like she’s protected us.”

For a single, ugly moment, Judy was unbelievably jealous. Olive had a heart-sister in Red Ivy — not a best friend, not a mate, something deeper and more enduring, something that Judy might call sacred were she the spiritual type — and although Judy had been able to experience things no other bunny had yet, it had been at the expense of the companionship of other bunnies. But as soon as the jealousy appeared, it passed. She was lucky to have what she did.

“If you _didn’t_ have to stay here and protect Skye,” Judy asked, “what would you do?”

“I would find where Red Ivy was stolen from, and then we would return to her family. I would salt the earth and rend the stars from the sky as ransom until the thieves bowed to me and told me where to go. I know it’s not terribly pragmatic, but it’s what’s in my heart,” Olive replied almost carelessly. “Oh, listen. The _radio.”_

“We need you at the facility in Tundratown,” said the gritty voice over the truck’s radio.

The driver, a moose in blue coveralls, sighed. “Seriously?”

“Hey, it isn’t my call. Just get over there.”

Olive raised an eyebrow. “See? I know where they go. This is unusual — _Tundratown_ isn’t in the story.”

“Yes, I...thank you. You’ve been helpful,” Judy said, trying to fit everything together. Despite Kat’s story being, at least on paper, about unethical hiring practices, she had no recorded interviews with the bunnies on staff, and she didn’t even have the wage disparity written down anywhere. This would be of use to INTERPOL, but Judy didn’t understand why Kat hadn’t actually talked to any bunnies about the _topic of her story._ This seemed less and less like the ocelot was concerned about mammal rights and more and more like a very personal vendetta.

Olive scratched out her little diagram, jumped up onto her feet, and asked, “Did you learn Lapine second?”

Judy blinked. “Why?”

“You have a strange accent. I can help you fix your whistles,” Olive said kindly, patting Judy on the shoulder before moving on.

_Strange accent._

She felt funny — like she _should_ be feeling something, but whatever it was, she couldn’t make it appear, let alone express itself. It was logical that after almost ten years away from home, she would sound like a native Commons speaker, but...was she really so far integrated that she sounded wrong in her _actual_ native language? Was this what her mother had talked about on the phone, about Zootopia stealing Judy away? Once, sounding like a native Commons speaker would have been a point of pride, but now, without the stars in her eyes, she just felt out of place and out of touch.

She was a bunny who didn’t act or talk like a bunny, but in return, she still didn’t have the respect of real mammals — and there it was again, that sinister little thought. _Real mammals,_ like she wasn’t one. Because she wasn’t, not to them. It was still a little sobering to realize how much of that attitude had rubbed off on her.

“Dahlia? You okay?”

Judy frowned and looked up at Skye, who was looking down at her with a concerned expression. How long had she been standing there? How long had Judy been _sitting_ there alone? “I...Olive says my Lapine accent is strange.”

“Oh. Don’t beat yourself up,” Skye replied, squatting down to give Judy a water bottle and offering a small smile. “It makes sense, right? If your…” Skye’s face wrinkled a little. _“...Mistress_ taught you A.C. first...honestly, I’ve been learning it for almost twenty years and I can guarantee I’ll never get that little trill right.”

“Twenty years?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say I’ve been working around bunnies since I was a kit. Drink up, Dahlia, I don’t want you to get sick.”

Judy reached out, not touching Skye, but getting close enough that their paws were within brushing distance. “Ms. Winter? Can I speak to you?”

“Sure. You’ll have to walk with me though. I’ve got to clean up before I can get out of here,” Skye assented. Judy got to her feet and followed Skye, who added, “What’s up?”

“I won’t be returning to work,” Judy replied, keeping her paws at her sides and trying not to look tense. She didn’t want to give off any aggressive signals. “I was looking for something, and I found it.”

They were almost at the picnic table where the cooler and Skye’s clipboard were, but Skye turned on the ball of her foot and stared at Judy. “What, _exactly,_ were you looking for?”

“Evidence of something bad. You haven’t done anything wrong, Ms. Winter, I promise.” Judy waved her paws in front of her chest gently, going for reassuring with her tone. “It’s Greengrass. I found my evidence — their downfall is inevitable.”

Perhaps a bit of an exaggeration, but it felt good to _say,_ at any rate.

“And what makes you think I won’t go straight to my supervisor,” Skye asked with narrowed eyes and paws balled on her hips. “I told you I worked hard for this job!”

“Not a darned thing,” Judy admitted, grimacing. “Except…”

“Except _what?”_

“You seem like a good mammal who cares.” Judy caught Skye’s eye and stared at her, hoping to somehow convey honesty with just her eyes. “Greengrass has killed mammals, and they’re probably planning to kill more mammals, and I don’t think you’re the kind who can just keep her head down and let that happen. I don’t think there are very many mammals who could. I think it would eat at you — I think it would eat at anyone — until you couldn’t stand it anymore, because you’re not a slimy cob of corn who doesn’t mind if the filth gets stuck on her.”

Skye frowned and took a couple of shuffling steps toward the picnic table, thrust her paws into her pockets, and made a disgusted noise. “How could you possibly know all that about anybody you’ve only seen for a few hours? Why would you trust me?”

Judy shrugged with a genial, hopeful smile and tried to open her body to look inviting. She couldn’t tell by Skye’s expression if it had worked. “I can’t know, but I trust you because I want to. You said we needed to protect each other, and you protected Red Ivy when she was being harassed. That’s who I choose to believe you are, because I believe we all have the basic instinct to take care of each other.”

“No offense, Dahlia, but that’s a stupid way to look at the world,” Skye countered. “You shouldn’t just trust the good nature of mammals who might want to hurt you.”

“You sound like my parents.”

“Your parents sound smart.”

Judy hesitated, and then sighed. She couldn’t put it off any longer. “Skye, I’m investigating this because my name isn’t Dahlia. I wasn’t born here, and I didn’t have a mistress. My name’s Judy Hopps, and I’m from Bunnyburrow. I’m a detective with the ZPD, and...I don’t want you to get hurt, okay? I don’t want you to get left behind or, or get left holding any bags, or have to struggle to pay rent because you got blinded. I can’t just _not_ tell you.”

“Have dinner with me, Judy,” Skye said after a moment of wide-eyed silence, and although it threw her off, Judy thought it was the least she could do. She shot off a quick text to Nick to let him know why she would be late — hopefully, she could talk Skye into being a compliant witness over dinner — and followed quietly while the vixen gathered her clipboard, her pen, and the cooler she used for ice and water bottles.

“Where are we going,” Judy asked as she followed Skye to the van. It seemed that the van belonged to Skye and not Greengrass.

Shooting a smile over her shoulder before opening the heavy passenger-side door for Judy, Skye replied, “Don’t worry, you’ll love it.”

* * *

Skye was right: Judy loved it.

The salad joint in the Meadows was an Open World place with a pay-what-you-can menu and a volunteer schedule posted by the door. An entire wall was dedicated to fliers promoting everything from music lessons to D&D groups, and there was a small conference room in the back that could be rented after-hours for group therapy sessions or whatever else. Most of the seating was outdoor seating, and the late-evening sky was beautiful.

They sat side-by-side on a bench for a moment, Judy with an avocado sandwich and Skye with some kind of salad that went a little overboard with the creamy dressing, until Judy chose to break the silence. “You said you’d been working with bunnies for twenty years.”

“I did.”

“In what way?”

Skye smiled a little, probably at a memory considering her nostalgic expression. “I’d just turned eighteen when bunnies were freed, and I was dating this capybara — real hippie type, though I guess nowadays she’d get labeled a social justice warrior. She had a neighbor who refused to change with the times, so to speak, and that...it was pretty common here in the city. Especially in the more upper-class areas, like downtown Savanna, but you even had some folks in Happytown who wouldn’t comply with the new laws. Marina and I helped where we could. We helped establish the first Meadows Warren, actually, which...didn’t work out _at all._ We were dumb, and we fought a lot, and eventually we broke up and lost touch. I guess I kept up with bunnies because I spoke the language and because it wasn’t uneven; when I look out for my clan, they look out for me. You know, I let Olive crash at my place when Immigration and Customs — _immigration,_ like, how fucking _insane_ — anyway, they raided the warren where she was staying, and then later when she heard I was going to get fired at my next inspection if I didn’t meet certain requirements, the _whole clan_ made sure we passed. No idea how she knew. She just says the grass whispers secrets.”

“It’s a Lapine expression,” Judy clarified with a laugh. “Kind of a joke, actually, depending on how it’s used. For the most part, I think the best Commons translation is _Wouldn’t you like to know?”_

“Figures. She’s kind of a little snot. I noticed you talking earlier. Was that about your investigation?”

“More or less.” Judy sobered and caught Skye’s eyes. “This is really serious. It started out as a missing mammals case and just...spiraled. I’m not comfortable telling you the particulars just yet, but it’s _really important_ that you keep yourself safe...and the others, to whatever degree you can. Let me know if you need help, but I...it’s like I said. Mammals have died, and there’s so much more to this than just the wage disparity that I discussed with Olive.”

“Mammals have died…” Skye swallowed. “Because of me?”

“No! No, because of the Greengrass Institute. If you didn’t do the job, someone else would, and I doubt they’d be as friendly to the workers. If anything, what you do is a public service. More mammals could die if the death caps were just left for someone to find. _Amanita phalloides_ is the most poisonous mushroom in the world as far as I know. Someone needs to clean up the mess that Crookwood made, and at least you care,” Judy assured her, practically vibrating on her seat with nervous energy. She didn’t want to drive off the witness! And she actually _liked_ Skye, unlike Kat, who was trying at best.

The vixen blew out a shaky breath. “I guess that’s...sort of a relief. I can’t imagine that your plan was just to poke around and warn me when it was all over, though.”

“That’s true.” Judy nodded, finished chewing her bite of sandwich, and added, “Originally I had a lot less information. I have a shaky warrant and hardly any authority, and if I don’t keep my investigation under wraps for another few days, I’ll probably be _former_ Detective Judy Hopps. My plan was to take photos to give to a specific investigator, and to find some evidence good enough to convince my not-so-missing mammal to stop hiding. I didn’t know who I’d be dealing with, or what I would find; I just thought I’d need to be tricky. I don’t want any of you to get hurt, though. That hasn’t changed.”

“Thanks, then.”

They ate in silence for a minute or two, enjoying the view. Judy examined Skye; she ate aggressively, like her salad had personally offended her in some way, and it was unnerving, but Judy tried not to show it on her face.

Finally, Skye paused and asked, “Can I ask a personal question?”

“Sure.”

“Why were you so upset earlier, when Olive commented about your accent?”

“Oh.” Judy looked out at the horizon, which was almost completely dark now. “My hometown is called Baniburrah now, but it’s Commonsized to Bunnyburrow, and I’ve been calling it that since I left home…”

She tried, and failed, to continue. She wasn’t sure where to go from there. She wasn’t sure how to put into words how she’d been feeling earlier, or explain why it felt like a loss of identity, for that matter. Thankfully, Skye wasn’t dumb, and quickly concluded, “You were upset about Olive because Lapine’s your first language.”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

Judy shrugged and picked at her sandwich. It was appetizing enough, but she didn’t feel as hungry, suddenly. “I’ve sacrificed so much for this ideal that I have — an ideal I’m questioning now. I changed my name in college because Ÿudeehlï was too hard for everyone to say, so now my name’s Judith even though my parents named me that way because they wanted me to feel proud to be a bunny whenever someone talked to me. I trained out my accent because nobody took me seriously if I lisped when I spoke Commons. I made sure to act like a city mammal, even if it meant rewriting parts of my native body language, just to fit in better. And it...it did work. I have a good work relationship with some of my fellow detectives, and I have a decent informant network. But looking back, I don’t feel proud of how much of my own culture I cut off just to fit into a space that just doesn’t want me. Olive made me look at it. Usually I’m so busy that this kind of thing doesn’t get to me-”

“It gets to you,” Skye countered with a shake of her head. “Trust me. Unless you’re some kind of emotionless robot, it gets to you. Whether you let your mind interact with it is a different story, but do you really think you’d be this upset now if this were the first time something like this had pricked at you?”

She slumped. “No.”

“I’ve been there. Not exactly, but enough. I grew up in an all-prey area, so I got the dubious honor of being _one of the good ones_ at the expense of the more traditional fox things. My mom used to get so mad at me for filing my claws so short you couldn’t even see them, but then I’d smile with my mouth closed and get invited to birthday parties. All the moms used to say I was so cute and shy. Two of them even cornered my mom when I was eleven and told her they were worried I had an eating disorder. _That_ was an awkward conversation.”

“You, ah…”

Skye laughed at Judy’s attempt to engage. “I didn’t. I was afraid if I ate in front of anybody I wouldn’t be allowed to play with my friends anymore. You know, because of the fangs. It was fine. It’s...nobody hated me, you know? The parents trusted me, the kits liked me, I even dated in high school. But it wasn’t because I was naturally accepted. It was because I tried hard to be nonthreatening, and I had the good fortune to be born a vixen instead of a dog. I always knew that I wasn’t like them. And then one day, it didn’t matter that I had changed myself to fit the tiny norms of an all-prey area who eventually came around to liking me for me. I was an adult, and it didn’t matter if you could see my claws or not. It didn’t matter if I talked like a Meadowser and ate vegetarian and helped displaced rabbits find colonies with my ex — I’m a fox, and I’ll always be a fox. I can’t stop looking like one, and it’s not enough to be _one of the good ones_ if you have to start the process over every time you meet anyone new. Especially because the implication is that by nature foxes _aren’t good.”_

“I’m sorry that happens to you,” Judy said quietly. She had known, of course. It was easy to see that foxes were on the lower rungs of society. But Skye’s account was uncomfortably similar to Judy’s own in a way that Nick’s wasn’t. “It shouldn’t.”

“Well, I really only said it to make a point. I didn’t want to make this about me. The _point_ is that there’s a lot more involved in bigotry than just hate. Nobody hated me growing up. They might not have _liked_ me if I hadn’t changed parts of who I was to make myself more prey-friendly, but not liking someone isn’t hate either. Sometimes I feel cheated out of my own identity — yeah, it was a choice I made not to engage in fox things, but it was a choice made out of fear and like...the desire for friendship, or love, or whatever. That’s not a real choice, not to a kit. Making you feel like you have to cut off parts of your identity might not leave bruises or scars, but it’s a kind of bigotry that feels like violence. I’m not going to tell you what you should do, but my adult philosophy is that we shouldn’t let them win. We should make them feel uncomfortable. We should make them feel ugly. Does that sound crazy?”

“No...it sounds amazing. It sounds like something I might have said back when I was...who I used to be, and I miss being her,” she admitted, looking down at her lap. “Even up until three months ago, I had this idea of...not how things are, but how things _should_ be. I really believed that things _could_ be that way, if enough mammals just tried. And now...sometimes I want to take off my trying cloak and give up. I’m tired of not making progress, I’m tired of being scared, and...ever since I lost my sponsorship, I’ve become more and more aware that my personhood still isn’t a guarantee. There could be an amendment in the future that says the Equal Rights Amendment is void, like they did with prohibition. Whether or not I’m a real mammal will always be up to someone else, the whims of whoever is in power, and I used to think that the law was enough, but I can’t fool myself into feeling safe anymore.”

“I never understood it,” Skye said thoughtfully. Out of the corner of her eye, Judy saw the vixen look up at the sky, her salad forgotten. “A rabbit signed the Agreements. That should have been enough to guarantee you personhood; it was enough for the rest of us, even foxes. I know they gloss over that period in history in school for the same reason they gloss over most wars: it was bloody and violent and more often than not, it makes us look pretty bad. I can’t say I know exactly how you feel, but...I was born right at the beginning of the mange panic, and I remember my parents talking about maybe leaving the country because there was talk of quarantining foxes, and — we couldn’t go back to Empycchu, foxes were even being driven out of the Godbird’s Eyrie, but there were other places. Things...I mean, it didn’t blow over, there’s still a _lot_ of residual prejudice and distrust, but they stopped talking about quarantine once they learned more about mange. But I’ve never forgotten how it felt to wonder if someday I’d be ripped from everyone and everything I knew just because some dipshits thought I was less-than just for my species. I know how it feels to just want to give up.”

Judy wasn’t sure whether she wanted to smile or cry. Maybe it wasn’t the same, but Skye understood, and she’d put a lot of things into words better than Judy was able to. Skye didn’t feel ashamed to admit her doubts, either, and Judy felt emboldened by that. “It’s really easy to just throw up my paws and go, “Whatever, it’s fine, mammals can walk all over me and say horrible things about me and touch me without my permission because they’re dumb and I’m tired.” It feels like fighting doesn’t get me anywhere. Judy, you’re a bunny; you’re never going to be good enough just because of how you were born. You’re a token, a resource drain, a _joke._ You’ll never be as good as a _real mammal.”_

It made her sick to say out loud, but it also felt good to verbally acknowledge, finally, the truth: to some, she would never be good enough. It didn’t matter if she excelled at everything. It didn’t matter if she became the best. It didn’t matter if she closed a thousand cases in as many days, or if she saved hundreds of children from a burning building, or if she became the President one day. There were some mammals who would still, until they died, insist that she wasn’t good enough. They would insist that she hadn’t earned what she’d worked for. And maybe they didn’t matter to her personally, but there were some whose opinions mattered to society. To them, she still wasn’t a real mammal, and she would never be.

“You’re not a drain,” Skye said firmly. She looked at Judy until she met Skye’s eyes, at which point the vixen smiled. “You’re out here doing dangerous stuff, trying to help. But you know what? No matter how bad it gets, it’s not your job, or my job, or anyone’s job, to prove that we’re “just as good.” I keep my head down at work for a lot of reasons, but on my own time, I’m an obnoxious bitch who really rubs my species in mammals’ faces. Extra-strength vixen. I file my claws to points. I smile with my teeth. I growl and I walk with my tail up and I even do the silly ancient rituals, even though I’m not religious, just because I want to make the bigots as uncomfortable as they make me. You could do that too, you know, if you wanted.”

“You know? I kinda think I do,” Judy answered thoughtfully. “I don’t know how that would look, but maybe it’s as simple as telling someone to stop. There have been so many times when I haven’t stood up for myself because I wanted to take the high road. After about six months in the city, I realized if I stood up for myself, I would be taken less seriously.”

“You’re right.” Skye nodded, took a bite, and continued through her salad, “Any excuse to make you look like a raving lunatic.” She swallowed. “Even the mammals who call themselves your allies get offended if you stand up to them — like common decency depends on whether you cater to their tender little feelings. There’s value in staying quiet when you have politicians saying it’s okay to hurt you, or at least not condemning others for hurting you and making excuses for them. There’s value in keeping your head down when it’s not safe to stand up and shout. But it’s an option.”

“And…” Judy took a deep breath. “Would _you_ be willing to stand up and shout? I have a meeting with an INTERPOL inspector in a few days. If I asked you to make a statement...would you? If I could get them to guarantee the safety of your clan, would you help me help Olive and Red Ivy and Shale make statements too, if they were willing?”

“Heh. Not a very sneaky little segue, but I guess I can respect your dedication. That’s my condition. No raids, no throwing my clan in jail for 30 days for not having papers, no _names,_ even, aside from mine. If you can guarantee that, then...hell. I’m not going down with a sinking ship,” Skye cracked. “You know what, Judy? You’re all right, for a cop.”

“There’s a good chance I’ll lose my badge over this one,” she confessed, the last painful secret finally acknowledged aloud, “but it’s nice to hear that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loooooots of seeds planted for future chapters here. I don't love this chapter either, but it was necessary, and I'm 80% sure this is all the housekeeping I need before the conclusion of this case, the interlude, and the beginning of part 2. (If you couldn't tell, part 1 has been about Judy realizing herself again while learning about the parts of the city she's been shielded from; 3 guesses what part 2 will be.) 
> 
> ...I didn't mean for Skye to become a character. Truly. She was supposed to just be a body with a familiar name. And now I maybe, kinda, lowkey ship Judy and Skye? Sorry. This is a Judy/Nick story, but I kept writing Skye because I liked her, and so this ended up just having a lot of Skye in it, and anyway let's give it up for badass ladies forming a good friendship and being subversive.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: I have a disease that is stealing my body piece by piece, and I've been sad about it, and it's definitely had an effect on the content (and maybe quality) of my writing. I will try to write something fluffy soon, and I've got some fluff planned for _this_ story soon, but yeah. If this seems more morose than usual, sorry. Also, just because it's necessary, y'all are going to hate me for the next 2-3 chapters. I tried to figure out how to make the story work out differently, but I couldn't. But hey, have some solid worldbuilding in the form of conversation. And, whoops, I time-displaced three named characters, but since we don't have the Night Howlers, they're kind of irrelevant in this anyway.

 

> _Case broken!_
> 
> _17 MMs, 3 precincts._
> 
> _They were related like we thought_
> 
> _No ocelots though, sorry lol_
> 
> _Nobody says lol anymore._
> 
> _Fuck off I do_
> 
> _Anyway_
> 
> _They tried to sell the vics._
> 
> _Sick fucks had more unreported._
> 
> _All MMs recovered, 2 suicides_
> 
> _But we got the perps._
> 
> _Any luck on your ocelot?_

Judy half-smiled down at her phone in a mixture of relief and sadness. She had worried that the other missing mammals cases had somehow been related to the Greengrass case, and would have to be turned over to the ABI, but fortunately, it looked like the collaboration between Precincts with Rivers as a go-between had worked out well. Judy hated that the victims had suffered enough for two of them to kill themselves, but at least the perpetrators had been caught. The 13 reported missing mammals, plus the extra 4 unreported ones, meant either a small trafficking operation, a _new_ trafficking operation, or a local chapter of some bigger group; Judy, having been in missing mammals and having collaborated with vice a time or two, was betting on the second. A more established trafficking organization would have chosen their targets better; they also wouldn’t have been so sloppy and left enough evidence for 13 reports to be made; and a small operation would focus on one species for a dedicated, specific clientele.

 

> _I think so._
> 
> _Congrats btw._

It wasn’t by chance that Judy had ended up investigating missing mammals cases. It was sad, dangerous work, especially when the victims turned up dead, but Judy would always remember the way it had felt when Rose had disappeared, the way other families back home had felt when _their_ kits had disappeared. She doubted Ethan had been behind every disappearance; after all, it had been happening since before the Greys had even migrated. She never wanted anyone to have to feel that way again, but she knew that they would, and she wanted to help make sure they didn’t have to feel that way for long. She wanted to save mammals, or at the very least help their families get closure. If she were honest with herself, she would probably do better in zoicide; there was a big part of her that liked to _hunt down_ those who hunted, and the victims were already dead, so she wouldn’t have to see echoes of herself in every rescued face. It would hurt less and play into her skill set a little better. She also liked the idea of giving voices back to the dead, letting them speak one last time to bring their killers to justice.

But cases like the one Rivers had just closed were _exactly_ why she had chosen to become a detective. It was the way she _wanted_ to make the world a better place, even if it was hard. She couldn’t wait for this case to finally be over, so she could get away from all of this political intrigue and Kat’s stupid double-crossing. She wanted to be working with Rivers and Del Valle and Grizzoli again.

The end of Rivers’ case made Judy question, once again, Chief Bogo’s motives for giving her Kat Castleberry’s case. Had he known that it was different? If so, why hadn’t he included the details that had explained it in the case file? If not, why hadn’t he assigned Judy to the inter-precinct investigative team that apparently had been set up? He _must_ have known! He must have had some outside knowledge, some notion that Crookwood was involved. It was the only thing that made sense. The only other explanation was that he had deliberately _not_ assigned her to the team, or even told her about it, hoping that they would succeed and find Kat before Judy ever learned that others were looking. But that just seemed too mean — not to mention, a waste. She knew that he didn’t like having her in his precinct. She knew that he didn’t like her as a mammal. But she was a good detective. He’d said so himself. Wasting resources wasn’t something he liked to do. If nothing else, he was generally pragmatic…

No use wondering about it now. She had her ocelot in paw, and tomorrow, they were going to meet the INTERPOL inspector. All they had left to do was housekeeping.

“Text from your girlfriend?”

Judy, who was once again seated on the sofa in the Sequoia Towers high-rise while Nick went off and sold his ice cream, looked up at Kat and blinked slowly. The weird smug expression on Kat’s face told Judy that it was supposed to be a jab, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what the joke was. She decided Kat was just trying to get into her head and shrugged it off. “Yes. We just got some RSVP’s for a very special party.”

“Way to work the stereotype.”

Judy decided to ignore that, mostly because she didn’t know what stereotype she was supposed to be working and she didn’t care enough about Kat’s opinion of her to find out. “I know it’s just you and me for the next six hours or so, but since I’m the detective and you’re my witness, I think we should go over our strategy. I need to know exactly what you’re planning to tell INTERPOL, and how.”

“Why,” asked Kat, shifting in place. The position of her legs, crossed wide in her short yellow skirt, was almost obscene; Judy suspected that Kat chose her wardrobe as carefully as Nick did, using tight, sexy clothing as a different kind of armor than his silk shirts and unmatching ties. The ocelot was perched precariously in a window-nook that, for a wolf, would only be big enough for a flowerpot; Judy would fit on it perfectly, but for Kat, it looked a bit cramped. Maybe she just liked the view. Maybe it was supposed to be some kind of power move in a dominance game Judy didn’t know how to play. Who knew?

Neither Nick nor Judy had felt comfortable leaving Kat on her own for the past few days now that they were down to the wire — they weren’t sure she wouldn’t lose her nerve and disappear — so they had all been staying at the high-rise. Tensions were already high, and tempers were already hot, but Kat had thankfully not told them to leave. Apparently, Nick secretly suspected that despite having a key, Kat didn’t actually have permission to stay in the high-rise after all; Judy didn’t necessarily agree, but she had to admit that was probably the most reasonable explanation for why Kat hadn’t put up a fuss. Judy just hoped that Nick was wrong, and that they wouldn’t get in trouble for essentially breaking and entering.

“Because,” Judy explained patiently, locking her phone and putting it aside, “INTERPOL is expecting a comprehensive report from me. You aren’t a cop, and the information you think is important might not be as important as you think it is; on the other paw, the information you’ve overlooked might be _more_ important than you think. I’ve already found and investigated missing pieces in your story. This isn’t an article, Ms. Castleberry, it’s a criminal investigation. Do you even know that International Code A342 requires witnesses to sign sworn affidavits and NDA’s when they turn over information they know is related to other classified investigations?”

“I mean, obviously,” Kat scoffed.

Judy grinned. She could hardly believe that had worked! “It’s crazy you know that, since I just made it up.”

Kat snarled, “So you set me up, big deal.”

“You’re proving my point. I know you’re good at what you do, or you wouldn’t be where you are today. But you’re working with cops now. If you want their protection, you need to give them something _they_ can work with. As a cop, I can help you fine-tune your testimony. We can look over the evidence, fill in the gaps, and make sure everything you give them is solid. Plus, we need to present a united front. If they don’t believe me, they won’t believe you, and then where will you be? Right back where you were, but in more danger, and with less credibility.”

“So if talking to INTERPOL is dangerous, maybe you shouldn’t have tried to get involved!”

 _“You_ got _me_ involved,” Judy said, not quite levelly, but at least in a controlled manner. She stared at Kat, splaying her paws on her thighs. She hadn’t gotten too close to the ocelot since their conversation a few days prior; she was still worried about what she might _do_ if Kat ran her mouth again. Probably nothing, since Judy didn’t have impulse control issues, but it was better to be safe than sorry. “Don’t pretend you didn’t try to be clever. I’m here because you sent out a cartoonish distress call to the ZPD, and we answered.” She took a deep breath and let it out. When Kat opened her mouth, Judy held up a paw and finished, “Look, Ms. Castleberry — Kat. I know you’re stressed, and you’re scared, and you’re taking it out on me because I’m small and cute and dumb and inferior to you and all the things you think about bunnies. I actually _don’t care_ what you think of me; on a list of mammals whose opinions matter, you don’t even rate. What I _do_ care about is making sure that Crookwood goes down for their crimes, preferably without you or anyone else dying for it. Do we have common ground on that?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“No buts, it’s a yes or no question. If we agree on that, then work with me. INTERPOL is our best chance.”

She didn’t think she had to say aloud that if Kat _didn’t_ work with her, the alternative was taking her into the station. Judy had more than enough probable cause for a warrantless arrest. Whether Kat understood that she was going to face charges regardless of her cooperation was still unclear, but Judy was happy to keep her in the dark until she’d given her comprehensive statement. The last thing anyone needed, _including_ Kat, was for Kat to clam up in hopes of a plea deal including cooperation.

With obvious irritation, Kat said, “You’re a real cunt, you know that?”

“I’ve never heard that word before, but if it’s an insult coming from you, I’ll take it as a compliment,” Judy snipped, immediately wishing she could take it back. There was no point in antagonizing her key witness.

“That…” Kat blinked a few times and shrugged against the window. The morning light made a little inappropriate halo around her face. “Whatever. Fine. But remember, this is _my_ story.”

Was _that_ what Kat was worried about? Someone stealing her _story?_ Judy almost felt sorry for her. It was such a small problem. They were all sitting on a big pile of damaging information that could bring down politicians and corporations, and it wasn’t even necessarily connected — Judy supposed she _did_ have Kat’s dumb scheme to thank for bringing Sporeheel and Prongs to her attention. And speaking of which…

“You wanted the ZPD to take down Prongs’ gang,” she concluded. “You baited him into following you before you knew I was on your case, thinking the detectives would make an arrest when they saw him harassing you at the Kettle. Did your brother _ask_ for your help, or did you make that decision for him?”

“I thought you wanted to talk about the case?”

Judy nodded. “I do. That’s going in _my_ report, and I guess your motives are irrelevant. I _might_ be convinced to withhold the part where you set me up, if you can give me reason to believe keeping it quiet does more good than reporting it, so be thinking about that while you start from the beginning.”

That last part was a blatant lie. Judy had no intention of withholding any information. She would protect Kat as best she could, for as long as she could, but she wasn’t going to let Kat get away with endangering so many mammals. This wasn’t the first time she had lied to a suspect — contrary to popular media, cops were not obligated to be honest with suspects _or_ witnesses about their intentions — but it was the first time she had lied about _not_ reporting them. Somehow, it felt worse. It was another personal hit she had to take to protect the city, but she didn’t like the kind of cop this case was turning her into. She couldn’t wait to leave this behind. The whole thing was dirty, and if she weren’t certain that Kat would meet a bad end if she didn’t get protection for what she knew, Judy would have just called in some backup and taken her to the station days ago.

Detective Judy Hopps found missing mammals. She helped save them, or at least tried to, before they could get killed or further harmed by whoever had taken them. That was her job, and she was good at it, and it was fulfilling. This...this was just madness.

Kat blew out a breath and examined Judy. Judy let her, holding very still, back straight and ears tall for the inspection. She wasn’t sure what the ocelot was looking for, exactly, but she didn’t intend to look weak. Suddenly, Kat broke into a grin and said, “I don’t know what you are, but you aren’t a bunny, that’s for sure.”

It was clearly supposed to be a compliment, but Judy was tired of being looked down on for her species. Being called not-a-bunny wasn’t a compliment, it was just another backpawed way of saying that other mammals were better. Maybe Kat _had_ deemed Judy just as good, but she’d had to remove her species to do it. The only thing that stayed Judy’s tongue this time was her complete lack of desire to get in another pointless argument.

“It’s hard to start at the beginning,” Kat explained with a frustrated wave of both arms, once Judy’s silence made it clear that it was still her turn to talk. “There’s no real beginning to start at. Dust country politics? St. Raphael? Happytown redlining? I guess, let’s start there. Everybody knows that Crookwood was involved in that; they were the biggest lobbyists for rezoning and the more recent anti-homeless ordinances. That kind of thing is a siren song for wealthy business owners looking for cheap property, because the ordinances make the streets look nice, so then the garbage elite move in and make things worse. I imagine you saw some of that in Bunnyburrow when you were a cub.”

Judy shook her head hesitantly. “I don’t think so. I was young, but when Birch Reservoir Farms changed from a designated meat farm to a bunny haven — technically designated as a breeding ground, but not to the mammals who lived there — misspelled as Bunnyburrow on the maps, _lots_ more mammals moved in, mostly predators. Land was cheap, and we needed the commerce, so even though most bunnies hated the idea of living so close to the mammals who liked to torture us before, most of the adults at least understood the need for a thriving town near our farms. It wasn’t the same; there was mutual benefit.”

There was silence for a moment as Kat looked around the room, but didn’t look directly at Judy. Her face was a funny mix of anger and confusion, but her next words weren’t so funny. “You...really think it was torture? We’re talking about mammals getting kicked out of their homes, Hopps. Having no place to go, no place for their families to go. You lived in a paradise. The rest of your species were _chosen,_ given roofs over their heads and food in their bellies, and all any of you had to do to get all of that was be nice to your owners and do what you were told. Can the bunny problem really compare to what predators went through? What we still go through?”

She shrugged and very carefully did not leap across the room to do something unconscionable to her star witness. She refused to be that mammal, that _bad cop,_ and also, it would be bad for the case. “I know that it was torture for _me_ to worry every day that my owner would renege on his verbal agreement with my father not to breed and sell us, and to let us keep our profits and goods for the most part. I can only imagine how it felt to be ripped from my family at two or three years old and used by strangers, or forced to — there’s no polite word for it because it’s not a polite thing — _fuck_ a buck I didn’t choose and produce offspring whether I wanted to or not, and get punished or sold or killed for black market meals if I didn’t produce what they wanted. I can’t tell you how it felt to get touched all the time without permission because someone owned me and used me for their own physical comfort, or to be put to work in a garden or on a farm or in someone’s house because they thought I was just a dumb animal good for nothing else. I can’t tell you how it felt to have to bow to a predator family in some shady black market warehouse deal and tell them how honored I was to be cooked and eaten, because I was bred to serve my betters. But it was torture enough to worry about it, as a young child. I don’t think there’s a comparison at all, and I think it’s beside the point. Just go on.”

Judy wasn’t sure Kat had ever thought about it like that, because the ocelot looked very ill, wide-eyed with curled lips and an anxious twitch in her ears. She _really did_ want to give Kat the benefit of doubt, but Judy just couldn’t trust her, and she was tired of mammals ignoring the lasting effects of bunny slavery because it didn’t affect them; Sporeheel and Kat, and even Nick to the extent that he’d avoided researching the facts she’d given him, could brush it off as an academic exercise. So instead of going with her gut instinct and apologizing for going off-course for the _purpose_ of giving Kat a cruel reality check, she motioned for the ocelot to continue with an expression that brooked no argument. Kat did not argue.

“Fine. Well, it’s not just Zootopia that got hit by redlining policies; it’s been going on for a long time all over the country, and it isn’t just Crookwood who did the lobbying. It isn’t even just prey-owned companies. I did some digging, and even predator-owned companies have been involved. Money over mammals, am I right? When you get right down to it, systemic class divide is the only reason the ratios of garbage mammals across species spectrum are off.” Kat made a disgusted noise in her throat and looked out the window, drumming her fingers on her thigh. “Anyway, Crookwood used to be a much smaller company. Niche, really. But they expanded here in Zootopia when they could buy up cheap property in Happytown, and then they started buying out or merging with other corporations. And the bigger they are, the easier it is to get their way, because money talks...which takes us out to dust country. Specifically Tuftet v Woolfyre in South Sugarberry Province. It’s a newer case; after the Supreme Court ruled that it was unconstitutional for the Provinces to discriminate against mammals on the basis of orientation for marriages and all that stuff, that trans lynx sued Woolfyre for firing her when she came out. She won, but in their appeal, Woolfyre argued that being a transfemale didn’t make her a protected class, and to employ “someone like him” — they deadnamed her in their _briefs —_ went against the regional manager’s deeply-held religious beliefs. And they won, probably because it was dust country.”

“I remember that case. I was just out of the academy at the time. The Chief told us not to publicly take sides, even on social media, but a few of us went to a solidarity rally anyway,” Judy commented. She had gone with Félinia, and Wolfard, Grizzoli, Fangmeyer, Rivers, and Hirsch, a deer from zoicide, had met up with them there.

Kat laughed at that. “Yeah, I don’t envy you. The Chief of Police is famous for being politically neutral, which is just another way of saying he doesn’t care if minorities get screwed over as long as he doesn’t have to deal with a change in the status quo. I almost did a story on _him,_ but...well, he outs himself, and nobody gives a fuck. I picked a different battle.”

Judy tried not to make a face. Kat wasn’t really wrong, no matter how much Judy wanted to stand up for Bogo. Mostly, Judy just didn’t want to agree with Kat because Kat was highly disagreeable, which was so petty that Judy felt bad for even thinking it. This wasn’t like her silly little squabbles with Nick; this was a real-world issue.

“Anyway, they did, and still do, a lot of that, but it’s so quiet now that you have to be keyed into that kind of news to keep track of it. Again, they’re not the only ones, but it was a gateway. Someone has to be the first. And if that weren’t enough, the whole Greengrass project is for some reason kept far away from the Crookwood name, which is enough to make anyone wonder what they’re hiding. By now you know — what _do_ you know about St. Raphael?”

“That Crookwood bought out NIP-ro _and_ the hospital that would reopen as St. Raphael, neither of which are publicly traded, and that sometime in 2016 they were caught by Dr. Madge Honey doing experiments on patients who couldn’t pay. She was an infectious diseases specialist, so I believe her report that they were testing diseases on the patients, but she only violated her NDA last year, and nobody knows where she is now. You say that they were testing their new death caps. They might have been doing both.”

“Or,” Kat suggested, “they covered up their testing. I don’t know anything about medicine, but it seems like patients dying of disease wouldn’t raise any eyebrows in the morgue, but a rash of patients dying of mushroom poisoning would raise lots of alarms. You could be right, but I’m just saying that maybe Dr. Honey saw what she was trained to look for, and they figured it was better to let her keep thinking that than to give her reason to believe there was something bigger going on.”

“That’s a lot of maybes for an INTERPOL report,” Judy warned, even though they weren’t at that stage yet.

“For a news report, too. I didn’t actually know about the doctor. What _I_ found out was that Greengrass contracted with St. Raphael to test their poison, and in return they got some prey-class cadavers — the type nobody would miss, homeless mammals, the elderly who didn’t have living relatives, rabbits — so they could test the meat for their fictional synthetic meat project. They-”

“Why do you think it’s fictional?” Judy frowned at Kat; of all her biases, that one made the least sense. It seemed to have no basis in reality at all. “It’s scientifically possible, even if it makes plenty of mammals uncomfortable, and it’s not like they’d have many other uses for cadavers. Other medical labs are working on 3D-printing _organs.”_

“Possible and profitable aren’t the same thing. Plus, Crookwood has, and has always had, a big anti-predator bias. They work with pred companies; they’ve even merged with, or bought, pred companies. Maybe because it’s good for public image, maybe because money was important to them at the time of merging or buyout, I don’t know. But the big bad is owned by traditionalist bigots. Lots of its subsidiaries are owned by traditionalist bigots. The C.E.O. was the son of one of the most outspoken anti-pred segregationists back when that “savage panic” thing was going on.”

“When that jaguar, Renato Manchas, fought back against his attackers?”

Kat opened her mouth, wrinkled her brow, closed her mouth, and pointed at Judy, seeming confused. “You’re the first prey mammal I’ve talked to who’s phrased it that way. The news reported it as a savage attack on Woolter White and Jesse Pinkram. Prey mammals all over Animalia started calling for mass segregation — citing examples from their own areas of big cats attacking prey, or other predators attacking prey, like there’s no such thing as a turf dispute or domestic violence or just someone being a psychopath or whatever, like there aren’t a zillion examples of prey attacking predators. We’re animals. We’re dicks to each other. That’s not really a matter of pred and prey, that’s just the mammal condition. But you...you’re small prey. If anyone should be parroting the talking heads all these years later, it’s you.”

Judy raised an eyebrow. “The same talking heads who wanted to keep bunny slavery around? No thanks.”

“...Okay. Fair enough,” Kat assented with a short nod. “If they’re willing to go to court over what they’re stupid enough to call _deeply-held religious beliefs,_ if they’re willing to argue before a Judge that a regional manager is so inextricable from their beliefs that they ought to have the right to discriminate in their _firing_ practices for a company they don’t even own, and Crookwood believes that predators are inferior, then it’s more reasonable to assume their plan is to drive predators into predetermined areas than to to assume they want to provide us with a healthier and tastier option. Isn’t it?”

“Maybe, or maybe they’ve decided that since they’ll control the whole market for at least a little while, because nobody else is producing synthetic meat, they’ll be able to sell it at a really high price. Your parents were willing to break the law just to get a taste of bunny meat. Do you think that was cheap?” Judy snorted despite herself. “Not to get too dark here, but I went through that traditional creepy phase in my teens when I discovered the internet; I know the going rate of my own species back then. They would have paid hundreds at a discount for _one_ little rabbit. Think about how high drug companies made the price of insulin _just because they could._ If Crookwood, or Greengrass, does poison the soil in protein fields, then mammals who are still at least partially obligate carnivores, like tigers, will _have_ to buy that synthetic meat, no matter what it costs. Or move out of Animalia, or just die.”

She pointedly did _not_ bring up the fact that there were plenty of mammals, some directly involved with Crookwood, who would love to bring back bunny slavery and meat farms. It hadn’t gotten her anywhere before, and that was for INTERPOL to discover anyway.

“It just doesn’t sit right, but you technically have a point.” Judy once again motioned for Kat to continue. The ocelot mirrored the gesture with her paw and said, “A first I thought there wasn’t a connection — that Crookwood’s just a big fat mess on all fronts, but in different ways. And maybe that’s true, but don’t you think it’s odd that at the same time they were harassing trans mammals in court, they were also doing a study on how to best poison predators? They’ve kidnapped mammals who’ve gotten too close-”

“Who are _they,”_ Judy interrupted. “Surely not the whole company? It’s impossible for that many mammals to keep the same secret. Someone would have blown the whistle by now. Heck, an employee of Greengrass had to get Yax addicted to hallucinogens just to discredit him, or at least, that’s the logical conclusion. Nick told me Yax used to have a dealer nobody knew — and Nick knows _everybody —_ until he stopped talking to the cops and opened up his Oasis. Isn’t it more likely that a few higher-ups in the Crookwood enterprise know what’s going on, but this is a Greegrass-only project?”

Kat jumped off the window seat and began to pace, looking irritable. Judy watched the twitch of her long tail instead of the angry scowl on her face. “Why are you defending them? Bestfluff had a financial stake in the bunny business! They lobbied to keep slavery legal!”

“I’m not defending them. But if we go in there with wild accusations of some grand conspiracy, we’re more likely to be written off as weirdos with an agenda. Or crazy, and when law enforcement calls you crazy, they don’t care what you have to say. It’s cruel, but it’s a necessary measure to cut down on reports of murders that were only hallucinated, or plots that are manufactured by clinical paranoia.” She looked away for a moment, ashamed of how callous that sounded. “Your story would be discredited before it even got published. I doubt someone like you would necessarily get blue slipped, but it’s possible that someone — maybe whoever in the ABI who’s in on this — would say that _I_ have let the job get to me, that bunnies are just too emotional to do the job, that I’ve had a nervous breakdown and led you to believe things that aren’t true. I don’t have a sponsor, so I’d be shipped back to Baniburrah after my 72-hour hold.”

Judy watched calmly as Kat came to a dead stop and turned to look at her incredulously. “And you _work_ with these mammals?”

“I’ve had my doubts in the past,” she admitted carefully, “but then I remember how much good the detective department is doing. Missing mammals don’t find themselves. Rapists don’t politely turn themselves in. Trafficking rings don’t just _decide_ to stop doing what they’re doing. Murderers don’t usually volunteer to pay for their crimes. There _are_ lots of problems in the ZPD, Kat, I’ll never deny that. But I have a long record of finding _and protecting_ missing mammals — so let’s get back to the case.”

“I legitimately don’t know whether to admire you for being so goddamn stubborn or pity you for being dumb enough to trade one cage for another,” Kat said flatly, “but whatever. You have another point, as much as I hate to admit it. Crookwood isn’t the monolith it feels like when we talk about it, but it’s still way too big for everybody to be in on it. And I...not everybody who works for them is some heinous villain. I _know_ that. Tuftet was just trying to survive. Sometimes you just take the jobs that are available, and half the feet on the floor probably don’t pay attention to the court cases; it’s poverty wages, hours cut off just below the amount required to pay employee benefits, they’ve got second jobs, they’re exhausted. Hell, someone might work days for Woolfyre and nights for BugBurga and not even know they’re feeding the same corporate masters. Does your girl Skye know that Greengrass is a subsidiary?”

“If she didn’t before, she does now.”

“Well, I think my notes on mergers and timelines are pretty comprehensive, and it’s all public information — if hard to access — so I don’t mind giving INTERPOL copies of those. I also don’t mind giving copies of my research into precedence, because it’s _also_ public record, and it helped me figure out what things Crookwood as a general rule wants and gets and lobbies for. Which brings us back to, ironically, the Happytown housing crisis. It’s pretty common knowledge that they’ve, y’know, aggressively lobbied for less regulations on a federal level, and they’ve succeeded with the current incompetents in office. But even if they hadn’t, any possible way they can cut corners and cut costs, they want it, even if it means screwing over their employees or even risking lawsuits or OSHA fines. And I _have_ noticed a pattern. Employees who got hurt on the job might get paid a lump sum and sign a contract saying they would voluntarily leave...and not qualify for unemployment. You can’t fire an employee for a workplace accident, but there’s nothing illegal about allowing an employee to quit and giving them a generous severance. And any time someone gets the guts to file a civil suit, they settle for small sums. Do you remember the season when Woolfyre opened a new store in the spiral and their 3.8-4 sweaters spread fleas to half the district?”

Judy shook her head. “No, it must have happened before I arrived in the city.”

Kat cracked her knuckles and began pacing again, her tail still flicking. “It set a new precedent for Zootopia. Officially, we only have 12 districts; District 13 is only unofficially part of Zootopia because it was slated to be. District 13 is technically its own city — and Woolfyre’s attorney argued that Happytown is actually located in Brush County. Zoo County has local employee protection ordinances that disallow firing employees for things that are out of their control...like, for example, opening and stocking a truckload of boxes they had no reason to believe contained flea-ridden sweaters. But it was found that Happytown _is_ in Brush County, and Brush County _has_ no such ordinances, and Woolfyre’s headquarters is still in the spiral edge, so the mass unemployment suit against Woolfyre was thrown out. The complainants looked like idiots, the ones who complained in the media weren’t loud enough, and everyone forgot about it. But now there are a _lot_ of corporate headquarters in Happytown, where they used to be out of the Savanna or the Meadows. District 13’s police and firefighters are sort of on perma-loan from the ZFD and the ZPD, usually the ones who don’t do well enough in the academy to be placed anywhere else, and nobody really knows what ordinances the regular mammals will be subject to, but the _corporations_ have all the protection of Brush County.”

Judy felt a spike of anxiety at finding out that she might not even technically live in Havena Province. It wasn’t entirely unheard of for large cities to spread across province lines, but being a bunny, her paperwork had to be exact. Mayor Lionheart hadn’t said a word about her address, and thus far, neither had District Chief Bogo. But someone _might,_ if she managed to tick off someone else before she earned her citizenship. What if the District Attorney went sniffing around? He was definitely more of a figurehead — his team of DDA’s, led by the hyper-competent raccoon Gesa Klaue, did all the _real_ work of the Zoo County Prosecutor — so he had plenty of time between dirty politics and shady dealings to make her life hard…

No. Kat did have one thing right: even _if_ this had something to do with bunnies, it still wasn’t about _Judy._

“So they push the citizens out and take advantage of cheap property, welcome gentrification, and lobby for ordinances that criminalize homelessness in Happytown. It’s obviously gross, but it isn’t illegal, so how does that fit in with the rest? And if you’re investigating unethical hiring practices, why haven’t you actually spoken to any bunnies?”

“Because that is literally the last thing _anyone_ cares about, and you know it.” Kat turned and approached the couch. Judy held very still, trying not to show that she was already anxious for other reasons, since she knew Kat would attribute it to her species. She didn’t even move when Kat jumped up onto the couch and sat down next to her, crowding her into the armrest. “You know what the majority of mammals want to get angry about? Relatable atrocities. Nobody gives a damn about bunny working conditions. Nobody gives a damn about your citizenship status or poverty wages or whatever the fuck it is your species is facing. It’s too abstract — mammals are _stupid,_ and most prey, especially the large ones, don’t even acknowledge that institutional speciesism is a thing. They take a look at the past three months and decide that’s all there ever was. You take any random mammal off the street...let’s say your sainted _partner_ Nick...and you ask him what he thinks of special protections for bunnies, I guarantee he’ll say they aren’t necessary.”

“No,” Judy argued hotly, “Nick’s not like that!”

“Then I’m sure you’ll have no problem asking him his opinion,” Kat retorted with a sweet little smile and a shrug. “Do you even know why the younger generation, at least here in the city, has to actually _seek out_ information about bunny slavery, even though it’s recent history?”

Did she really want to hear this from _Kat,_ of all mammals? Well...maybe. At least Kat wasn’t going to sugar-coat anything. “No, I don’t.”

The ocelot’s triumphant smile was a little nauseating. “Because nobody cared then, and nobody cares now. You think _pet owners_ were gonna let the neighbor cubs in on their dirty little secret once it became illegal? You think disabled mammals were going to admit to participating in mass exploitation? Look, what I said was true — bunnies had it _good._ What you said was true, too — it was exploitative and wrong. Both are enough to keep adults ashamed and quiet in front of their cubs, and you’ve got traditionalist wingnuts on their talkshows calling you “illegal immigrants” as a way to discredit you so that claims of slavery are taken as hyperbole, and you know what? Early Bugs Bunny cartoons are _still_ some of the funniest shit on TV. _No one cares about you, Hopps,_ and more importantly, it would hurt too much to start now. My readers want to relate to the subject matter. Only the most bleeding-heart progressivists can relate to your species, and even then it’s more that they pity you. So, no, I’m not going to bother wasting my time trying to interview workers from a species that is _famously_ insular, not to mention speciesist against predators-”

“Oh, yes,” Judy said icily, “how terrible of us to be afraid of _mammals who caged and ate us.”_

“Fine, maybe speciesist is the wrong word, I’m not completely blind, but you know what I mean. It shakes out the same in the end. Bunnies don’t trust preds. Plus most of you can’t even speak A.C. I interviewed legitimate citizens who make minimum wage. I interviewed mammals who got unfairly fired. I interviewed mammals who didn’t get workers comp or who didn’t get hired because of species or sex or gender. I dug up dirt on the religious histories of each of the major players, so I could figure out whether _deeply-held religious beliefs_ was just a code for _covering our nasty bigoted tails,_ and what do you know? Upper management is full of hypocrites. It’s in my notes, not the ones I left with Tess, but the ones I’ve been keeping to myself. When you look at the big picture, it’s just a bunch of scattered pieces that don’t necessarily fit together...but when you look at each piece individually, it tells the story of a _deeply_ corrupt international enterprise that is getting away with not just exploitative and unethical practices, but literal murder. That’s what my story is about. How are we supposed to refine _that_ for INTERPOL? Where do we even start?”

Judy didn’t know whether she wanted to cry or shout. Kat wasn’t lying. She wasn’t exaggerating. And Judy, deep down, had known all of that for a long time. She knew that bunnies were a joke not worth telling, and probably not worth reading about either. It was by design, and because there _were_ other things — in Kat’s opinion, more important things — going on, nobody had the time or thoughtspace to educate themselves on “obscure” issues. It hurt, because it was _wrong,_ and because it felt like dwelling on her own issues just made her selfish and self-centered. If her past informed her whole life, how could she effectively protect and serve _everyone?_ That was why, for so long, she had so stubbornly fought to just not think about any of this. She had taken it on herself, blamed herself for systemic failures, sought to prove herself in the face of injustice she had refused to name, because that was easier than admitting…

_Oh, sweet cheese and crackers._

...Kat was right. Nobody cared. When Zootopian foxes were being actively kicked out of ice cream parlors, who would take notice of a few hundred bunnies living off the grid out of necessity? When smaller predators like Katrina Castleberry had to claw their way into any space they wanted to occupy, who would bother making sure the cute, bug-eyed stuffed toys weren’t being exploited? They were stealing jobs anyway, according to the right-wing media darlings. _If_ they were being mistreated at all, it was their fault for demanding more than they deserved.

At least she had a focus, though. She didn’t _have_ to think about it yet. She could help Kat get her testimony in order, and then she could put Prongs on major crimes’ radar with her recordings and maybe some testimony from Billie Flowers and Ben Castleberry if she could pin him down, and see if she couldn’t figure out how to get _someone’s_ eyes on DA Sporeheel. Once that was all finished, she’d have her citizenship, and she could visit Baniburrah and talk to her family, and even reconnect with Gideon—

First, Kat. She could do that.

“We start with Greengrass and their contract with St. Raphael. That’s where the obvious murder starts. Everything else is important evidence in a corruption case, but if we want to get INTERPOL’s attention, we start with the murder. The sheep doctors who were arrested in the St. Raphael case all died in holding, and the ABI took over, but nothing’s been done. You can still publish your Crookwood story however you want, but we need to stick to the facts, not speculation, and push the murder angle if we want their help.”

“I...yeah. I can agree with that,” Kat said, and the whole world felt a little lighter.

* * *

Normally, Judy would have sent Nick out with Kat to pick up their take-out, but thankfully, Skye had volunteered to give a statement straight to Inspector Danielle Furreya, so she was keeping an eye on Kat, and they would bring the food back together. That gave Judy a moment to strategize with Nick in private.

If he’d come out of the bathroom, anyway. She knew the tub was nice, but she really needed his eyes.

What Kat didn’t know was that Judy had recorded their entire conversation earlier. She wouldn’t be giving INTERPOL the more private bits unless they subpoenaed the whole recording, and in fact, she didn’t intend to give the Inspector even part of the recording unless Kat deviated. It was a possibility that Judy had to consider, no matter how agreeable Kat had eventually become once they had found common ground in the significance of the St. Raphael murders. So here she was, cutting the recording down to size on her tablet, hoping she wouldn’t have to use it.

She was _not_ used to not trusting her witnesses. Some of them had been unreliable in the past, but that was mostly due to trauma, not inherent untrustworthiness. Kat’s agenda made her untrustworthy. Well, that, and her frightening tendency to brush off anyone and anything she deemed unimportant. The kind of mammal who would tell a story about eating a bunny as an _intimidation tactic_ was not the kind of mammal whose word could be relied upon without backup. That was just a fact.

_“No one cares about you, Hopps.”_

That whole section had to go. It was irrelevant, and it was also embarrassing — mostly for Kat, who looked bad in that conversation, but also for Judy, who should have stood up for her own species, probably. Or maybe not. Everything about this case made her feel like she was walking on the edge of a knife, and one wrong step would split her right down the middle.

She felt, rather than heard, Nick come up behind her at the dinner table, so she didn’t jump when he pulled one earbud out of her ear and asked, “What are you up to, Carrots? Looks awfully technical.”

“This is a recording of the coaching I did with Kat this morning to refine her testimony. I’m cutting it down to the parts that are relevant. We don’t need the whole conversation, but we need backup to give to INTERPOL if Kat doesn’t cooperate,” she explained.

He jumped up onto the chair next to her and asked, “Isn’t that a little underpawed, even for you?”

“Maybe,” she acknowledged, moving the bar a few seconds with the stylus, “but we can’t trust her to tell the truth, and besides, this time I’m just taking cues from _you._ You wouldn’t just trust someone to have _your_ best interests at heart, would you?”

“Harsh, but fair,” he said, playfully nudging her shoulder. “Still, it’s not your interests she has in mind. It’s hers. It’s best for her if she tells the truth. Tricking her like this is a risk, especially because she’s a predator.”

She frowned at the screen in confusion. At least she hadn’t made him mad, but she didn’t know why that should be important when Kat had proven to be unreliable. “The statement she gave me this morning corresponds with her notes and with what you and I found in our investigation, but first and foremost she’s a self-involved journalist who wants to break a story. Who knows what she might say to protect her career interests when we get in there with Inspector Furreya?”

Nick was quiet for a minute while Judy fiddled with the bar and cut out some more pointless dialogue. Finally, he answered, “I don’t like her any more than you do. But is this _really_ because she’s a journalist, or because she’s a predator?”

She laughed lightly. “What does that even mean? It’s neither. It’s because she’s a manipulative liar who set up the ZPD. She shot me with a shock pistol to try and get a different officer on her case, remember? That’s not trustworthy behavior.”

“It’s just that you always flinch. Well, not _always,_ but you get so tense whenever I’m near you. And when she’s near you, too. I get it, prey are taught to fear predators, but I just want to make sure you’re doing this for the reasons you think you are.”

She raised an eyebrow and turned her head sideways for a moment. He was wearing his usual armor, without a tie this time, and he had a couple of residual wet spots around his ears and neck. He looked...cute, and she felt cruel for thinking it, but with such a black-and-white view of things and the careless wet spots he’d not bothered to go over with the fur dryer, he seemed too childish to be anything else. “Nick, I get tense because you keep touching me without my permission and I never know when you’re going to do it. It makes me nervous. I don’t like it, but I didn’t really know how to bring it up without hurting your feelings.”

“Most mammals touch their friends, it’s called _bonding,_ but if Her Majesty wishes for me to ask permission each time, then I’ll do it,” he said graciously, and Judy genuinely had no idea whether he was making fun of her or not.

She chose to assume he wasn’t. “Thank you. Why _do_ you touch me so much? I know you say it’s bonding, but bunnies don’t do that.”

“It’s already established that bunnies aren’t...you know, exactly like the rest of us, though. And red foxes in particular, at least in my dad’s culture, are really physical. When you don’t have someone to touch or hug or whatever, it’s like there’s a piece missing. I never had a friend I trusted enough to...it’s stupid. Forget it. I’ll stop.”

“No, that’s...it’s okay, you don’t have to,” she replied, feeling wretched. She wanted him to back off, yes, but she didn’t want to take away something he needed. They were friends. Weren’t they supposed to support each other? He said he trusted her. Maybe she needed to show him that she trusted him, too. She could at least be honest with him about why she was so hot and cold. “I haven’t had a good track record with touch. Since I left Baniburrah, it’s either been medical or professional — or violent — and the one good adult relationship I had ended because I couldn’t commit to being physical. I like it when you hug me and act casual with me and don’t treat me like glass, but I don’t like feeling like I can’t say no and sometimes being touched is so overwhelming that I feel like I don’t want it even when I also feel like I do. It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just that I have a weird relationship with physical contact and I react with you like I would react with _anyone._ At this point in my life, I’m not even sure I could curl up with my littermates without a period of jumpiness. I wasn’t always like this. You just happened to meet 27-year-old Judy instead of teen Judy.”

“I can’t really understand that, but I guess that doesn’t matter.” He put his paws on the table and leaned forward onto his forearms. “So it really doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that I’m a fox?”

Judy laughed again and touched her stylus to the “Save As” button to save the edited copy with a different title. “Kat’s _way_ scarier than you are.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

She realized that to Nick, who was already sensitive about his species, it would have sounded like she was saying ocelots were more dangerous than foxes, so she hurried to explain, “Like I said, she _shot me._ Actually, it’s not just that — she said she’s eaten a bunny before! That’s not someone I’d consider safe to be around.”

He rolled his eyes and pointed his thumb at the couch, presumably to make a point, although Judy had no idea what that point might be. “She was just trying to rile you up, Carrots. She’s not going to eat you. That’s not a thing. In the real world, prey is a noun, not a verb. I mean, yeah, I was ready to do something against my policy of nonviolence when I thought she’d killed you, but that was just another example of how toothless she actually is. Don’t let her get to you.”

“She didn’t get to me,” she replied, feeling a little sick at how dismissive he sounded. He was just...trying to reassure her, right? “I’m not afraid she’s going to eat me, but back then? When she was seven? It _was_ a common story. And that doesn’t matter; the point is, we can’t trust someone who uses supremacist rhetoric just to get a rise out of someone.”

“Okay, you know what? No. You don’t get to pretend there’s such a thing as a predator supremacist. The only thing we have is, _maybe,_ reactionaries who push back against _prey_ supremacists,” he denied. He was obviously irritated, and now, she was too. “Maybe if prey weren’t bigots, you wouldn’t have reactionaries.”

She dropped her stylus next to her tablet and looked over at him, incredulous. He looked like he believed what he was saying. Maybe Kat _was_ right about him; maybe he really did think the last three months were all there ever had been. “And the fact that for _millennia,_ before the Agreements — which aren’t exactly prehistoric — predators terrorized and ate prey, means nothing to you?”

“Well, we stopped. What’s your point?”

“The _point_ is that by your _own logic,_ prey supremacists are just reactionaries too. Nobody has the right to pretend to be superior, because none of us are. That’s _fake._ And any mammal who’s _ever_ picked up a book would know it’s never been as simple as “predator-versus-prey,” or else bun-”

“Oh, wow.” He narrowed his eyes and leaned in — a sign of aggression? His ears were flat against his head, that was supposed to indicate fear in foxes according to her research, but he was big and angry and _her friend,_ she didn’t want to fight with him but here they were anyway. “You’re calling me illiterate now. That’s not speciesist at all. Good job, Fluff.”

 _How dare he?_ After all he had said to her, all the names he had called her, all the looming and threatening body language and jokes at her expense, he wanted to go there? She threw up her arms and opened her mouth to tell him off, but what came out was something a little nastier. “Well, you know what, I’m starting to wonder if maybe you _are._ This entire discussion only got this far because you _still_ don’t believe that bunnies were enslaved and slaughtered, so either you’re too afraid to read about it because you know you won’t like what you’ll find, or you’re just too _dumb.”_

Nick looked like she had slapped him or gut-punched him or something, and she felt _awful._ Immediately, she put her paws over her mouth and said, in something like a stage-whisper, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He didn’t say anything. Judy reached out, hoping to connect with him the way he seemed to prefer — through physical touch — but he drew back, and her ears fell back against her head and neck. It was _so hard_ to navigate this friendship with him. He was sensitive to _so many_ things, and sometimes he couldn’t take what he dished out but other times it just seemed like he hated himself and relished the hurt other mammals caused him. They had these genuine moments where she felt so safe and _valued_ with him, and then there were moments like this, where he couldn’t look at her and see anything but whatever caricature he’d been programmed to see, and he didn’t want to look at the hypocrisy.

Were they even friends? Or was it her stupid trusting heart once again seeing the best in someone whose best wasn’t very good at all? How was she supposed to tell the difference? It was obvious that he wanted her to trust him and like him, but was that because he liked and trusted her, or because he had some agenda with her?

No...no, that was stupid. They _were_ friends. He had put himself in danger for her. He had gone above and beyond when she had made it clear that she didn’t expect anything else from him. He had stood up for her and tried to protect her. And anyway, she was the one in the wrong here, overall — at least, she was more wrong than he was. It didn’t matter what she’d meant. She had meant to make a jab at his character, his unwillingness to even peek outside his own tiny little box, but instead, she had sounded just like the elephant from the parlor where they’d first met, insinuating that foxes couldn’t read. It didn’t matter that she had been talking to — all right, practically yelling at — Nick Wilde, the mammal, not Nick Wilde, the fox; he was still inextricable from his species, just as she was, and after being presumed illiterate because of his species all day, he would have to assume that was her starting point. He had done the same thing to her, of course, and more than once, but that didn’t make it right. She didn’t get a pass just because he did it first; that had been her _point!_ That wasn’t how decency worked. It wasn’t how friendship worked, either.

She heard Kat’s key scrape in the lock and sighed. They had to play nice in front of their star witness, and Judy didn’t want to make Skye uncomfortable with domestics, but Judy _would_ make it up to Nick after their meeting with INTERPOL. She turned off her tablet screen, curled up her earbuds, and put on a bright smile, just in time to see Kat and Skye come through the door carrying bags from Lucky’s.

Sixteen more hours, and then Judy would be free to apologize for as long as it took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you get when you take two super flawed people from different backgrounds who have a history of conflict and a new friendship, put them in a highly stressful situation with an asshole whispering in one of their ears, and never give them a chance to sit down and _breathe?_ This. You get this, even if you don't _want_ this. I spent lots of hours trying to figure out a way to settle this unspoken issue without conflict, but it didn't work. I would have to change their personalities and probably retcon some significant things, which I'm not willing to do.
> 
> Oh, and btw, the "stereotype" Kat thinks Judy is working is U-Haul lesbians. She totally thinks Judy was smiling because she was texting Skye, and they were planning a housewarming party after knowing each other for like 3 days. Because Kat is the type who thinks in caricature when it doesn't directly affect her story, and because she's subconsciously looking for ways to be mean to Judy, who defies her ordered little world in every way.
> 
> Up next: INTERPOL gets a case, Judy faces District Chief Bogo, and Nick and Judy have the _second_ half of this conversation.


End file.
